The Wages of War
by smithsbabe65
Summary: At long last chapter 22! Teresa is faced with the most difficult decision of her life as the lives of her captain and her mother hang in the balance. Please R&R!
1. Paris 1940

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own anything associated with the Matrix Trilogy. I have taken some of the characters and changed their names for sake of the timeline and events. All of the original characters are mine. I don't have much money, so please don't sue me!

_A/N:_ This story takes place during the third incarnation of the Matrix. After the machines studied human history, they were intrigued with the way the Nazi's exterminated millions of people they deemed undesirable during WW II. The Architect, in his never ending quest to balance his equation, and to purge the system of those humans failing to accept the program, has recreated the horror that was the Third Reich.

Warning: Contains scenes of torture and death. Also there is a brief rape scene. Although this story takes place during a specific time in history, it will not be historically accurate. Remember, dear readers, this is the Matrix's version of the Second World War.

Chapter One

Paris –1940

The morning of May 10, 1940 started as any other. Shopkeepers were rushing along the busy streets and alleyways; trying to get to their places of business before the throng of customers arrived to make their daily purchases. Little school children were kissing their mothers goodbye before heading off to another monotonous day filled with lessons of arithmetic, grammar and the nation's history.

Drunken patrons stumbled out of their beloved pubs, after a last drink of courage before going home to face their angry wives. The smell of freshly baked bread was emanating from the local bakeries, tempting the senses of hungry pedestrians. The day was beginning like any other. Little did the unsuspecting citizens of the French capital know what was coming and the horror that lay before them.

Amongst the hustlers and bustlers that morning was a raven-haired woman. Her green-blue eyes darted nervously as she scanned her surroundings. Her hasty search did not detect any dreaded police. She too was busying herself with displaying her wares for potential customers.

As she ran her nimble fingers through her shortly cropped hair, she silently cursed, "_Merde!"_ Her midnight black mane, that had been her crowning glory, recently had been hacked off by the jagged sheers of the local wig maker.

A girl has to eat, she thought to herself, as she continued her daily ritual of smoothing out her tattered dress and pinching her cheeks in an attempt to bring color to her pallid complexion. She knew that she was not beautiful woman, no, not in the classical sense, but she did have a certain elegant grace about her that made many men take a second glance.

She was tall, slender, with an almost angular figure. She did not posses the usual curves that others in her profession had, but that did not matter. She knew she was gifted. She had a trick or two up her ragged sleeves that kept her clients coming back for more.

As she made her way through the busy Paris streets, her stomach was grumbling. Unfortunately the money from the wig maker had quickly run out. She had to find a customer quickly, and do the deed if she was to have her sustenance for the day.

Usually, she did not venture out into the daylight, preferring the cover of night, like a creature from the underworld, but it had been almost five days since her last meal. She offered a little prayer to whatever patron saint that would listen; she was hoping against hope that one of her regulars would be just as desperate to find her, as she was to find him.

The sun had continued rise over the city, giving the rooftops a golden glow. The gargoyles on the _Notre Dame _cathedral had been given the illusion of life and looked as if they might leave the ancient structure and take flight. The raggedy looking woman continued along the streets, until she came upon the _Arc of_ _Triumph_. Her paced quickened when she saw a pair of handsome, but oddly pale men heavily engaged in conversation.

The Twins, good! she thought. They are always up for a little slap and tickle, and they're pockets are always full.

She broke out into a full sprint as she tried to catch up to them, her legs pumping. Her face sported the look of a lioness chasing her prey. Her breath had become short and ragged as she tried to close the gap between her and the men. Crowds of people parted as they tried to get out of her way. Flocks of pigeons took to the skies as if to avoid her heavy footfalls.

Almost there, just a little further, she thought.

Her slender hand shot in front of her as she reached her destination behind the two men. Reaching out, she placed her hand upon the shoulder of one closest to her. Their conversation had ceased as both men turned around to face her, smiling. Those smiles, however did not display warmth.

"Teresa", said the first twin.

"We are pleased to see you" chimed in his double.

"Indeed we are" both said in unison.

Teresa was still out of breath from her little chase as she panted out, "Hello, boys, you don't know how happy I am to see you both".

The ghostly pale pair scrutinized her for what seemed to be an eternity, before giving Teresa a response.

"You poor darling, what have you done to your hair?" inquired the second twin.

"Christian, don't you like it? It's the latest rage in all of gay _Paree_"; Teresa was trying her best to conceal her embarrassment.

Christian let out a loud howl. "Maybe I should recommend that all of the women of our fine city visit your friend, the wigmaker, hmmm?"

Tears of rage and humiliation began to sting her eyes, but Teresa was determined to get something out of these bastards or die trying.

Pushing her shoulders back, she turned her gaze to her second companion.

"Athos, you like my hair, don't you?" She smiled sweetly as she addressed him.

"Of course my sweet, don't listen to him. He's angry with Marcus for reprimanding him yesterday".

"Marcus?" she asked.

"Surely you haven't forgotten about our newly elected mayor, my pet" Athos purred into her ear as he slithered around her.

"Ah, yes, the new mayor", Teresa twisted mouth in disgust; "I don't trust him".

"Neither do we, but he pays us well".

Christian then reached into his jacket pocket and produced the largest amount of _francs _that Teresa had seen in a long, long while. Her tongue darted out of her mouth to lick her dry lips, as her eyes gazed longingly at the money that was displayed before her.

There must be at least five hundred francs in that slimly, pale hand, she thought to herself, My God, I haven't seen that much money since I was a girl.

Teresa's mind began to drift, taking her into a trip to a past that was long gone but not forgotten.

__

* * *

"Teresa, Teresa!" A man's voice boomed loudly, almost shaking the foundations of house.

"_Teresa, wake up girl, don't make me have to come get you."_

_Teresa woke up with a startled look in her ocean colored eyes. Her heart was racing as she quickly jumped out of bed and put on her dressing gown. She hastily brushed her long black hair before heading out of her bedroom door and down the stairs. . _

_The sound of her stepfather's voice had always irritated her, but this morning aside from its usual annoyance, she detected something else. A sense of urgency coursed through her as she made her way down the stairs into the parlor as expeditiously as her legs could take her. _

_Awaiting her at the foot of the stairs was her stepfather, Gaston. However, her mother did not accompany him as usual. Instead she found three strange men standing behind the portly Gaston. All three of them sported the same black uniforms, with highly polished boots. The upper sleeves of their jackets had a strange insignia, what looked to be crooked crosses, or two snakes intertwined. Stitched onto the high collars of those same jackets were two letters, "SS". If she had not been so frightened, she would have noticed that they looked rather handsome in their smart looking attire._

"_Where is my mother, Gaston?" Teresa's eyes narrowed as she awaited a response from that detestable man._

_Teresa had always hated her stepfather. Before he had married her mother, Gaston Dupree had been a business partner of Teresa's father, Jean Luc, but it was widely known through out the small provincial municipality that they lived in that Gaston had eyes for Teresa's mother, Marie, whom she strongly resembled._

_The toad didn't even have the decency to wait until my father was dead a year before asking for my mother's hand, she thought hatefully._

_Out of desperation and fear of not being able to run the vineyard on her own, Marie had consented to the marriage, much to her daughter's dismay. She had only been eight years old, but Teresa had the ability to recognize evil when she saw it. She had sensed it all those years ago when she had first laid eyes the man that would later on become the source of her torment._

_As Teresa blossomed into young womanhood and Gaston's leering gaze fell upon her, her feelings of forebodings were confirmed. Teresa had been the silent witness to many a beating that had been administered to Marie by the overbearing Gaston. _

_Arguments had ensued between her mother and stepfather, when it was discovered that he had squandered most of the inheritance left by Jean Luc. Gaston had also run the vineyard into the ground. The only thing left was the home they lived in, and a few meager savings that Marie had managed to squirrel away. The money had come from the sale of precious family heirlooms and jewelry. It broke Marie's heart to part with them, but she knew that she had to do something to keep their heads above water. _

_Teresa feared, that her stepfather would try to satisfy his sick appetites with her since her mother now refused to share their marriage bed. Gaston had to resort to local brothel to fulfill his lustful desires. However, Teresa had caught his hungry eyes raking over developing figure many times _

_The sixth sense that had served her so well in the past was threatening to overwhelm her. She felt a great menacing malevolence emanating from three strangers that were darkening her parlor. The feeling was so strong; it was almost suffocating her._

_Finally, Gaston addressed her, "Well come here, girl. Don't stand there gawking."_

_The three men had ignored Teresa's presence until Gaston spoke. The men then sharply turned their heads at almost the same time to face her. What Teresa saw made her blood run cold. _

_The men were all expressionless; dark colored eyeglasses shielded their eyes. Although she could not see beyond the dark tint of their glasses, she knew they were all looking intently at her. The man in the center moved towards her, separating himself from the rest of the pack. _

"_Bonjour, Mademoiselle Picard, I am Commandant Schmidt"._

_The man's voice had sounded strange to Teresa, almost mechanical in nature. His French, although perfect had a trace of a slight accent. If Teresa was not mistaken, it was German. _

_Perhaps sensing some apprehension on her part, Schmidt removed his eyewear. Teresa's eyes locked onto the most inhuman gaze she had ever seen. Schmidt's eyes were as cold and hard as blue steel. _

_A slow shiver crawled up her spine, as Teresa felt rooted to where she stood. She couldn't move, nor speak. Her stomach was twisted in knots. It was if the sound of this man's voice and his steely stare had rendered her immobile. _

_Gaston, frustrated with his stepdaughter's inability to do as she was told, walked over and grabbed her by the arm, thus wrenching the young girl from her sanctuary at the foot of the stairs. _

"_Teresa, how many times have I told you to speak when you're spoken to"?_

"_It's alright Monsieur Dupree, we have obviously frightened the girl," Schmidt interjected, "We will not try to take up anymore of your time than is necessary"._

"_Monsieur Dupree, we are here because we believe that your wife has been contacted by certain individual"._

_Gaston's eyes widened as he said, "Oh, and who might that be?"_

"_The man's name is Marcel, Marcel Dubois. He is a dangerous criminal and a traitor to the Fatherland."_

_Teresa suddenly came to life and spat out to the man that was falsely accusing her mother. "That is a lie! My mother would never associate herself with anyone of that sort"._

_Gaston had had enough of his stepdaughter's insolence, before Teresa could utter another word; he hit her face with the back of his large beefy hand, sending her reeling across the opposite end of parlor. Her head hit one of the legs of her mother's prized Louis XV table, knocking over a crystal vase that had contained roses from her mother's garden in the process. Water, freshly cut flowers and shards of crystal were strewn all over the hard wood floor._

_Gaston hissed like a venomous viper, "You stupid girl, who are you to question the authority of these officers of Hitler's elite?" _

_Gaston had been a Nazi sympathizer. He admired the Fuhrer and his fascist ideals. Teresa had often heard her mother arguing with Gaston, telling him he was a fool for entertaining the notion that if he and his little band of friends sided with the Germans, they would not invade France like they had the rest of the European continent._

_As Teresa lay on the parlor floor, her hand was rubbing the cheek that had been struck so viciously. Fresh tears flowed down her face. The three officers made no motion to assist her in anyway. It took all of her strength to get up from the floor. With her face still stinging, she noticed that inside of her mouth was bleeding. She spat the excess blood and saliva at her stepfather's bare feet._

"_You will regret that Gaston, I promise you that before you leave this earth, you will pay for what you've done to me."_

_Schmidt, who seemed slightly amused by the whole affair, continued with his monologue._

"_Your little family drama is of no concern to us, however when a member of this family associates themselves with a known criminal, we are left with no choice but to investigate the rest of the family"._

_Beads of sweat appeared on Gaston's forehead, as he tried to convince Schmidt and his silent companions that he had nothing to do with his wife's activities. If she had indeed been involved with a traitor, it was unbeknownst to him. _

"_Commandant, you know that I have been loyal. I sympathize with you, and with the German people's effort to rid Europe of the Jews, gypsies and the rest of the vermin!"_

"_Monsieur Dupree, we are well aware where your loyalties lie. We are counting on that loyalty to help us bring this man to justice. Will you cooperate with us?'_

_Gaston was visibly relieved, if informing on his own wife meant he'd win favor with the Nazis, he would do his best to comply with whatever they may ask of him._

"_Very well, Monsieur Dupree, I will leave this photograph of Marcel Dubois with you."_

_Schmidt snapped his gloved fingers at the younger of his two associates._

"_Lieutenant Braun, may I have the picture please"._

_The junior officer reached into the leather shoulder bag he was carrying and retrieved an 8" x 10" black and white photograph of a man._

_Braun handed the photo to his superior, who then turned it over to the eager Gaston. Teresa had managed to stumble over to where her stepfather stood as he appraised the man in the photograph. The girl stood on tiptoe as she peered over his shoulder to get a better look for herself._

_Teresa gasped at the face staring back at her. It was the image of a black man, but the color of his skin did not shock her, for there were many people of color in France. Many of the blacks were American musicians who mostly lived in Paris seeking acceptance amongst the theater and music patrons._

_His features were broadly masculine and strong, but what caught Teresa's attention was the fact that his head was devoid of any hair. His eyes were dark, and piercing as if they could see into her very soul. He had an almost regal air about him as if he wielded some great power._

"_So Monsieur Dupree, we are agreed then?" inquired Schmidt._

"_Oh, yes, yes Commandant, if I see this man I will contact you immediately"._

"_I will be at the German embassy in Paris for another fortnight before returning to Berlin, so you may contact me there". _

_The Commandant then quickly turned on his heal to address his underlings, "Braun, Johansen, we will take our leave, for now"._

_Commandant Schmidt then turned back around, clicked the heels of his boots together as he extended his right arm in front of him in a strange salute._

_His companions followed suit._

"_Heil Hitler, Monsieur Dupree", all three recited in hollow monotone voices._

_Teresa watched in fascinated horror as her stepfather returned the gesture to the darkly clad trio._

_The officers then exited out the front door, not bothering to close it behind them. From her vantage point she could observe the men as they continued their way down the front path, past her mother's rose garden and through the gate of the white picket fence. Just on the other side of that fence she should see a large black automobile. On either side of the front hood of the vehicle was a small flag emblazoned with the symbol of the Fatherland._

_The men all boarded the black car, with the Commandant and Braun in the backseat, while Johansen took his place behind the wheel. Teresa heard the sound of the engine turning over, the gears of the transmission clicking into place before the car started its slow departure out of town. _

_It could have been her mind playing tricks on her but she could have sworn that the Commandant had intently been looking at her through the car window. Just as she was about to close her front door, he gave her sly wink, then put his strange eyewear back on as the car drove away._

_Teresa was slightly taken aback by the gesture and quickly shut her door. She then turned to face her foster father and demand an explanation of the morning's events and the identity their strange guests. Most importantly, she wanted to know the whereabouts of her mother and what she had to do with this man, Marcel Dubois._

"So what do you say, Teresa, up for some fun?" Christian's smooth, silky voice had snapped her out of her reverie.

"What's the matter Terry, for a minute we thought we may not have had your undivided attention?" cooed Athos.

Teresa, not wanting to ruin her chances at getting a decent meal, tried to banish all thoughts of the past. She needed to concentrate and have her wits about her.

These two are a slippery pair, but their money is just good as any other man's, she thought to herself.

'All right, boys what did you two devils have in mind?" she gave each twin her most enticing smile.

"Finally, we are getting somewhere. We have a suite at the _Fleur De Lis. _It's nice, quiet and discreet".

Teresa suddenly asked," Do they have room service?"

One of Christian's eyebrows shot up, 'Why do ask my pet?"

Teresa's alabaster face quickly turned crimson as she shyly confessed that she was overwhelmed by hunger.

The twins both gave her throaty chuckles as each of them encircled an arm around her slim waist. They guided her through the crowds of citizens and tourists alike, as they tried to make their way to the hotel.

Suddenly, and without warning, Teresa felt both Christian and Athos pulling her into a dark alleyway off the beaten path of the busy avenues and boulevards. She started to panic and tried to twist her limbs free from the lecherous pair's icy grip.

"Hey, what in the hell is going on here?" she demanded. "I thought we were going to your suite?"

"We are, we are, but first we want to sample the goods" Athos' voice was dripping with lust as he slammed Teresa's back into the brick wall of a building.

Christian busied himself with greedily sliding his cold pale hands on the trembling flesh underneath her dress. He was roughly rubbing her thighs, trying to part them to gain access to her intimate core. All the while, Teresa tried to fight them off, but in her weakened state her efforts were futile.

Athos had managed to get his hungry mouth on hers, kissing her hard, bruising her already tender lips. She tried to call out to anyone within earshot, but each time her cries were muffled by a devouring kiss. Fear and animal instinct had taken over as she managed to bring up her knee and make forceful contact with the groin of one of her attackers.

Christian dropped to his knees with a heavy thud. He had rolled himself into a fetal position as he moaned in pain.

Athos seeing his brother's predicament quickly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a shiny instrument that he swiftly brought to Teresa's exposed neck.

"You little bitch, you'll pay for that", he seethed into her ear.

Teresa pleaded with him, "Please, Athos don't do this. I'm sorry".

"Too late for that, I'm afraid; you've injured us and its payback time".

As she felt the blade of the knife start to sink into the tender flesh of her throat, she inhaled sharply. Teresa's eyes widened as she suddenly was startled by the figure of man that had appeared behind Athos. It was as if this man had materialized from thin air.

A large forceful hand had encircled Atho's wrist, causing the albino to drop his weapon. Teresa observed how Athos' other arm had been twisted behind him, as painful groan escaped his lips. His legs were spread apart by the man's knee as Athos felt himself being pushed, face first, into the very same wall he had Teresa pinned against just moments earlier.

"I don't know who you are", said Christian, "but if you don't unhand my brother, you will regret this".

He had somehow recovered and had brandished his own knife as he attempted to square off with stranger. The man only tightened his grip Athos' arm, making him whimper all the more.

'Christian, I think he will certainly break my arm, do something!"

Complying with his brother's request, Christian rushed at the man, with his teeth bared and eyes blazing with uncontainable hatred, as he lifted his weapon, ready to strike.

The man cast Athos aside as if he were a rag doll, sending him sailing through the air and straight into the brick wall of the other side of alleyway. The wall had imploded upon impact; pieces of brick and mortar were flying in every direction.

Teresa had been watching this display in awe, not believing what her eyes were seeing. No one had the strength to throw a man through a solid brick wall, no one.

Christian didn't seem deterred by what had just transpired, he turned his attention back to the task at hand, to vanquish this man, no matter what the cost

He wielded his knife once more, trying to intimidate his enemy.

The man, completely unimpressed, finally spoke, "Didn't your mother teach you not to bring a knife to gun fight?" His voice was deep, commanding, reminding Teresa of rolling thunder.

The albino was dumbfounded, as if he did not understand the question. Before he had could have a chance to mull it over in his head, the stranger quickly opened his leather trench coat, and removed two fully loaded pistols from the holster he had been wearing, sending a rapid succession of bullets at Christian.

What Teresa saw next would cause her to question her own sanity. Athos had managed to get himself out of the opening his body had created in the wall and rejoined his brother.

As the bullets were flying, Teresa saw that not one had struck either brother. They had somehow been able to avoid being hit by pistols' spent ammunition. There was an odd look about them; they seemed to be glowing. Then the impossible happened.

Teresa actually saw that the brothers had become translucent, as if they were made of paper. The twin apparitions disappeared into the cobblestone that comprised the path of the alley and rematerialize behind their adversary.

Teresa cried out, "Behind you look out!"

The man, with his pistols still in each hand, pivoted on his heel, as he turned around to do battle, his coat fanned out behind him in a flourish. He kept shooting his weapons at the twins as they shimmered in and out of his line of fire.

Click, click, the unwelcoming sound of an empty gun, in this case two.

"What's the matter, your toys don't work?" said Athos giving the stranger a wide toothy grin that would chill the average man to the bone.

A stab of fear went through Teresa's heart. Whoever this avenger was, he had saved her from a gruesome fate, and for that she was grateful. She closed her eyes, her lips were moving as she recited a litany, a silent plea for divine intervention that would help this man prevail.

Teresa's eyes suddenly flew open as her ears heard the sound of a speeding vehicle coming in their direction. The tires squealed as the car came to a sudden halt, two men quickly exited the automobile. Her prayers had been answered.

Each man had been wearing similar attire, dark colored clothes, long black trench coats, and combat boots. Dark sunglasses guarded their eyes. Most importantly, these men knew how to accessorize. They were armed to the teeth.

Sensing emanate danger, Teresa ducked for cover behind some wooden crates, as did her strange savior, as a hail of bullets started to rain upon the twins from the arsenal of the new arrivals.

Knowing that they were ill equipped to fight off the assault, the twins decided to dematerialize and make their escape through the city's sewer system. Teresa cautiously peeked out from behind the safety of the crates just in time to see Christian and Athos' ghostly figures disappear into the ground.

Teresa tried to stand up, but the combination of hunger and fear proved too much, and her shaky legs gave way. She felt herself being caught in strong arms before her body could hit the ground. Her frail frame was lifted off her feet then carried toward the two men that had been standing by the car. The stranger had gently slid her into the back seat of the vehicle, mindful to not hit her head on the frame of the car door.

As the doors closed, she heard the roar of the car's engine as it turned over. A firm command was issued to the man that sat behind the wheel, "Drive as fast as you can, we must get her as far away from this city as possible".

The driver acknowledged the order and replied his compliance with," Yes sir".

Teresa knew that she would loose consciousness soon, but she was determined to find out who this man was and to thank him for coming to her rescue. Sensing that she was straining to speak, he told her she had been through a great ordeal and needed to rest.

"Rest, Mademoiselle, don't worry, the answers to all of your questions are coming, but you must regain your strength".

She was not going to be dismissed that easily. She had to know this man's identity before drifting off into oblivion.

"Who are you, sir; please tell me your name?"

"My name is not of any importance right now, but if you must know, it is Marcel, Marcel Dubois".

End Chapter One


	2. Tommy Boy

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to the Matrix Trilogy or its characters, that honor belongs to the brothers Wachowski and Warner. However all of the original characters are mine. All historical figures mentioned are fictionalized versions of the real thing, to serve the purpose of my little story.

_A/N: _As explained in the previous chapter, this story is the Matrix's recreation of the Second World War, events and certain battles have been altered to meet the needs of the machines' ultimate plan of creating a perfect simulated reality by ridding themselves of those humans that would not accept the program.

Warning: This story will contain scenes of violence, torture and death. The horrors of what the Nazi's did to exterminate millions of men, women, and children will be described here in great detail. I mean no disrespect to the people that suffered and died at the hands of the Third Reich, or to the ones that survived. This story is dedicated to their memory.

Special dedication: To my muse and mentor, Linda. Thank you for your inspiration and your encouragement.

Chapter Two

Tommy Boy

A solitary male figure began the long climb up the steep steps of the State Department Building, located at the intersection of Illinois Boulevard and Avenue M in the District of Columbia. It was two minutes past the midnight hour on this 10th of May. As the man continued his ascent up the concrete steps, he found himself in a state of befuddlement and deep in thought.

Why on God's green earth would I be summoned here? He asked himself, what in the hell could be so goddamned important that I have to be dragged out of my bed in the middle of the night?

He had left his house in such a rush, that it wasn't until he had reached the revolving door of the main entrance of the government building, that he took notice of his disheveled appearance.

"Crap", he cursed to himself," I'm still wearing my fuckin' pajamas!"

The loud shrilly ring from the telephone that he kept next to him on the oak wood nightstand had interrupted his peaceful slumber. He tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but whoever was on the other end of the line was sure as hell persistent.

"_Hello", the greeting had been gruff and groggy._

"_Is this Dr. Gerald Waxenberg?" inquired a masculine voice._

"_Who wants to know?" Dr. Waxenberg, still struggling to stay awake, had now moved himself to a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He did his best to cradle the heavy phone's receiver to his ear._

"_Let's just say it's your Uncle Sam"._

"_Listen up, pal, I don't know who you are or what kind of game you're trying to play, but I'm going to hang up this phone and get some much needed sleep. Goodnight and goodbye!"_

_Waxenberg was about to slam the receiver down when he heard the man's voice had taken on a pleading and urgent tone," Please doctor, this call is not prank, I must speak with you, now, tonight."_

_Slowly, the doctor returned the phone's earpiece to his ear, "What do you mean, tonight? Who in the hell is this?" He was beyond exasperation._

_After a long pause," This is Eisenhower doctor, General Dwight Eisenhower"._

_Waxenberg scoffed at the preposterous claim of the caller, "Oh yeah, well if you're General Eisenhower, then I'm Mickey Mouse"._

"_Oh, no doctor", the man protested, "You're Doctor Gerald Hershel Waxenberg, professor of physics, a master of linguistics and some might say a mathematical genius". He continued, "You were nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 1932 for your ground breaking work in deciphering ancient Egyptian and Babylonian texts."_

"_Yeah, that information and a dime might buy you a cup of coffee. Anyone that has read a newspaper in the last eight years would know that about me." There, that ought to shut him up, Waxenberg thought triumphantly._

_After an even longer pause, "Well here's something I know about you that wasn't in the Washington Post. You were asked to resign your position as head of the linguistics department at Harvard, because of your, um, extra curricular activities". _

"_W-what?"Gerald was stammering, "I don't know what you are taking about"._

"_De-Nile is a river in Egypt, doctor; you and I both know you were banging your female students two at a time"._

"_How could you possibly know about that? My records were sealed. That was part of the agreement with the university if I left quietly". Waxenberg was defeated._

"_We're the United States government, we make it our business to know", the voice on the line was firm and confident._

_Waxenberg sighed heavily into the phone, "O.K. you win, what do you want me to do?"_

_The man that claimed to be Eisenhower, instructed the doctor to listen carefully. He had given Gerald specific directions to their meeting place. He was further told to get there as soon as possible and to come alone._

"_And most importantly, doctor, you must tell no one of this meeting, this is a matter of national security'._

_Then the line went dead._

_Gerald sprung into action. He leapt out of bed and hurried to his bedroom closet. Without thinking, he grabbed his brown tweed jacket with the gray elbow patches and his well-worn fedora hat. He had managed to find his black wing tip shoes right where he had left them, at the end of the hallway. _

_As he nervously buttoned up his jacket, he thought, what would an army general want with me?_

_He had a half a mind to stay put, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He just had to know if this was all on the up and up or a very elaborate prank at his expense._

The revolving door was spinning on its axis as Gerald gained entry to the grand hall of the State Department building. The room was immensely large. Long Romanesque columns shot up from the ground floor, almost touching the glass dome ceiling. From that ceiling cascaded three gargantuan Austrian crystal chandeliers that illuminated the entranceway with brilliant elegance. The green marble floor was expansive and at its center the Presidential Seal: the American bald eagle, its claws clutching an olive branch and sharpened arrows, respectively.

Gerald was wallowing in the sheer beauty and power that this room possessed. I must have driven by this place everyday, he thought to himself. However he never dreamed that he would be standing inside admiring its magnificence.

"This way doctor", Gerald had not noticed that two towering military police officers had silently approached him and had flanked him on either side.

Waxenberg shook his head a bit, he was still trying to ward off the Sandman, "Oh yes, please lead the way".

The echo of their footsteps reverberated throughout the grand hall as they made their way to the elevator doors. Gerald observed as one of the military police officers pressed the "UP" button.

As the doors slid open, he asked one of the young soldiers, "You wouldn't happen to be carrying a little flask of whiskey on you? I'm a little nervous, you see."

Neither man responded to Gerald's pitiful request. He swallowed hard as they stepped into car before the elevator doors closed shut. The soldiers had remained silent and still, as if they had been caught in Medusa's sights and turned to stone.

Suddenly then the officer that had been standing next to the lift's control panel shoved his hand into one of the pockets of his kaki green pants and retrieved what appeared to Gerald to be an old fashioned skeleton key. The MP deftly removed the cover to the control panel. The key was inserted into the first available slot and was given a quick turn.

"What did you just do? I've never seen anyone having to use a key in a lift before." The professor was beside himself with wonder and curiosity.

The MP simply shrugged his broad shoulders and said, "Well sir, there's no other way to get the 13th floor".

"The 13th floor?" Don't be ridiculous", Gerald said incredulously, "Everyone knows that no multi storied structure is built with a 13th floor, it's considered bad luck."

"That, sir, is superstitious nonsense", the second officer retorted. Gerald was further informed that the United States government had been secretly including a 13th floor in all of its Federal buildings for the last three decades.

The elevator ceased its ascension and announced its arrival to the designated floor with a resounding "ding".

Well I guess this is where we get off, Gerald thought to himself. "After you," he said as he gave them a little bow of false gallantry.

As they exited the elevator car, the three men came upon what seemed to be an endless hallway with an infinite amount of green-gray doors on either side it. Gerald had placed himself behind the two MP's as they turned to the left and started to make their way down the corridor.

The doctor had observed that there were no nameplates on any of the doors, only numbers. How strange, he thought, how would they know which door belongs to this Eisenhower character?

He had been so self-absorbed in his own thought process that he did not see that the two men ahead of him had abruptly halted in front of one of the many doors, almost causing him to careen into the broad posterior of one the soldiers.

The towering modern-day centurions stepped aside, each taking their place on opposite sides of the doorway, giving Gerald full view of the number on the door; it was 101. They look like bookends, he mused, like two big dumb looking bookends. Again the MP's stood motionless, as if they were waiting for some sign from on high before they could make their next move.

Abruptly Gerald asked, "Is this the General's office? If it is, what are we waiting for?" Unmoved by the doctor's outburst, the men continued to stand at their posts. Suddenly the door to room 101 flew open with such force, it almost came off its hinges. There, in the doorway stood the source of all this cloak and dagger business.

"General Eisenhower, I presume?" Gerald managed to croak out.

"You presume correctly, doctor", responded the commanding officer. He then addressed his subordinates," At ease gentlemen, you may now take your leave."

The MP's acknowledged their superior with a resounding "Yes sir". Each gave the decorated general a sharp quick salute, which Eisenhower responded to in kind. The soldiers then started their retreat, heading back in the direction from whence they came, disappearing into nothingness.

When he felt confident that they were alone, the general turned to Gerald, "Dr. Waxenberg, please step inside." Like a condemned man resigned to his fate, the diminutive professor quickly brushed past his mysterious host as he stepped into the room. He heard the door shut behind him.

Gerald was dumbstruck. He was clearly taken aback by the sharp contrast of this small space in comparison to the opulence of the grand hall on the ground floor. Eisenhower had seated himself behind his unimpressive desk. On it was a messy sea of papers that was burying his Corona typewriter and a black rotary telephone. Behind him, plastered on the wall were maps and charts of some sort. The wastepaper basket appeared not to have been emptied in a long while.

"Take a seat doctor," as he motioned to Gerald to select one of the two chairs that were located at the front of the desk. Waxenberg planted himself firmly into the metal folding chair that was closest to the desk. He couldn't stand this anymore; he wanted some answers. "OK, general, I'm here, against my better judgment I might add."

The general regarded this man, as one might inspect an insect under a microscope. He finally decided to take the direct approach and tell it like it is.

"Dr. Waxenberg you're here because your country needs your help."

"Needs me for what? What could I possibly know or possess that the government and its military goons would want?" His words had been anxious and fearful.

"Doctor, it's not a 'what' but a 'who'. We need you to help us find someone."

"Whom do you wish me to find, your long lost grandmother?" Gerald had always resorted to sarcasm when he felt nervous or cornered. It was his defense mechanism.

"You disappoint me, Gerald, this is no time for smart ass remarks." Eisenhower was beginning to get bored of this little man. He decided not to mince words.

"Gerald, you don't mind if I call you 'Gerald' do you?" he didn't give a rat's ass if he did or not as he continued to speak at him, not to him. "There is a former student of yours that we need to get our hands on."

"I don't know whom you mean", Gerald felt a familiar throbbing at his temples that heralded the start of a monster migraine. He was under duress, and he did not like it one little bit.

"Well here's the rub, Gerald, _I _think you do know who I'm talking about, and you're gonna help us find him."

Gerald blurted out, "I can't help you, and I _won't _help you." He went on to say, "You can't call me in here and force me to give you information that I don't have, besides, I know my rights."

"Rights, you say, well I don't think that you'll have any rights where you are going if you don't help us, Gerald." Eisenhower slowly gave the doctor a predatory smile; it reminded Gerald of a great white shark.

"Gerald, don't be coy with me, do you think that your sexual diversions are the only thing we know about you? We also have irrefutable evidence that you and this student of yours intercepted top secret encoded documents, which, if may be so blunt, seriously endangered the security of this nation."

As the general's words began to sink in, Gerald felt as if the room was spinning, his headache had worsened, and there was feeling of queasiness that was threatening to expel the contents of his stomach onto Eisenhower's unkempt desk.

Finally, in a small, weak voice, Gerald addressed the man that sat imperiously before him, "All right, Eisenhower, I'll help you. There's just one problem, he's gone underground since our little experiment, it will be difficult locating him."

"Interesting choice of words, doctor, your 'experiment' cost the tax payers of this great country millions of dollars and countless hours of man power to clean up the mess you created."

"We were only trying to test the boy's abilities at code breaking, he was a whiz kid, my protégé, if you will. He had managed to crack and decipher any code, no matter how deeply encrypted. If there were anyone to blame for the government's inconvenience, it would be me." Gerald had lifted his head and let his amber eyes lock onto the general's stony gaze.

Well, he has some _cojones _after all, thought Eisenhower. "All right, Gerald, here's what we're going to do. In exchange for keeping your little bony butt from doing a stint in Leavenworth, we'll give you all the tools necessary to find your boy."

He went on," We know that he's been able to keep in touch with you through the personal ads. We want you to send him a message that will leave him no choice but to seek you out. Once that happens, the rest will be up to us."

Gerald nodded his agreement, but he just had to know one thing, "What will you do to him once you've found him?"

"Like you said doctor, that boy is the best code breaker on this side of the Atlantic, he's been in the private sector for too long, and it's time he serves his country. Gerald, I won't lie to you, as you know there's a war going on in Europe and its only a matter of time before America will be in the thick of it. We need your boy to intercept and decode the German's radio transmissions. This nation needs to know what its up against." He saw the concern in the professor's eyes.

"Gerald, these damned Nazi's are some of the meanest sons of bitches I've ever seen and if it takes getting Thomas Andrew Ackerman to help us put a stop to them, then that's what I have to do." The general's voice was full of conviction.

Gerald finally said, "God help Tommy."

Eisenhower clasped his hands together and placed them above his desk. He looked sullenly at the hapless professor as he sighed, "No, doctor, God help us all."

End Chapter Two


	3. I was Blind, but Now I See

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix or any of the characters; I've only "borrowed" them for a while. The Wachowski's have nothing to fear from me, I'm not out to make my fame and fortune by stealing their work. However the concept and the original characters belong to me.

_A/N_: This story is about the Matrix's interpretation and recreation of the Third Reich and the Second World War. The story will not be historically accurate, I've just picked this time period for the purpose of exposing the ugly reality that some of us have to live with everyday, racism, hatred and religious intolerance. History has a way of repeating itself, and boy did the machines take that to heart.

Chapter Three

I Was Blind, but Now I See

"_No, don't touch me! Stay away from me or I'll kill you!" Teresa's body was thrashing, her arms and legs flailing about. The sensation of rough, hard hands on her body, pulling at her, grabbing greedy handfuls of flesh, was terrifying her. Her eyes tried to see the face of her assailant. An image started to take shape; it was solidifying. She felt the weight of another's body on top her, pinning her down onto the bed she had been lying on. _

_She could feel someone's hot breath in her ear as they whispered to her, "Teresa, you know you want it, stop fighting me, _Cheri_." That voice, she thought, I know that voice. Her vision was finally able to ascertain who had been violating her._

"_Gaston!" shrieking his name as if it were a blasphemous curse. His round, sweaty face was just inches away from hers, his breath was foul, it stank of rancid wine. "Mother would kill you if she knew what you are trying to do to me"; her tone was defiant and full of contempt._

"_Ah_, Cheri_, it's your mother's fault that I've had to turn to you. If she hadn't left me to run off with that black bastard, you wouldn't have to take care of your old papa. It's her fault, remember that!" He swooped down like a vulture, as he tried to give her a sloppy, wet kiss on her mouth. He brutally twisted her breasts. Teresa reached up and raked her long fingernails into his fat, jowly face, piercing the flesh and drawing first blood._

_Gaston roared in anguish and pain, then he viciously wrapped both of his powerful hands around her throat and started to squeeze. He panted to her," You little whore, I'm going to kill you, just like I should have killed your bitch of a mother!"_

_Teresa could feel the life leaving her body, as her air supply was being cut off by Gaston's vise grip. She had to something, anything, or she was going to die. She had managed to reach out towards the night table on the side of the bed. Fumbling around its contents until she found what she was searching for. Her fingers enclosed the heavy base of the brass lamp. She lifted it up, over and down upon her stepfather's head with as much force as she could muster._

_Gaston's eyes rolled into the back of his head, as he flopped down onto Teresa's chest, his corpulent body crushing hers in the process. Oh my God, she thought, I've killed him! Not wanting to wait around to find out, she pushed his malodorous offending form off of her. She quickly rolled off the bed and got to her feet. Frantically looking around what had been her mother's boudoir, she knew had to run, but to where?_

_Teresa had no one. Her mother was the only family she had, but she abandoned her young daughter. Marie had left her to fend for herself, and now look what happened! She was forced to kill a man because no one was here to protect her, look out for her. Teresa made up her mind right there and then that from now on she would look out for herself. She didn't need her mother; she needed no one. Besides it was all Mother's fault, she thought, it's all her fault._

Teresa awoke; her heart was beating so rapidly, she feared it would burst out of her chest. She was drenched in sweat, and her mouth was dry. Her body was tense as she put her hand to her throat. It felt so real, she thought, it was so real, but it couldn't have been, it was just a dream. Gaston is dead. Yes, her thoughts were trying to convince her, he is dead and I killed him. It's been six years since that night, an eternity.

When the realization finally hit her that she had only been dreaming, reliving the past, she gave a little sigh of relief, but that serenity was short lived when she suddenly noticed that she found herself in strange surroundings. Quickly she lifted her body out of the bed and swung her shapely legs over its side. She placed her feet on the cold floor.

Where am I, she asked herself, the last thing I remember is being in that alley with those two sons of whores! Her eyes widened when the memories of what had happened flooded her mind. Her mind was reeling as she was trying to reconcile her past with her present.

This man had been partly responsible for her misery and the difficult life that she was forced to lead since her mother disappeared without a word. Yet this was the same man that had saved her from being ravaged by Athos and Christian.

Teresa searched for the exit, she had to get out of this room and find him, Marcel. She needed answers and she would get them even if she had to beat them out of him.

As she approached the door, she inhaled sharply as the knob turned slowly, the door was being opened from the other side. Teresa stepped back to allow for the door to swing into the room. She looked up; a dark, hulking figure had entered, dominating the space with his presence.

"Ah, I see you've awakened, you must be hungry, come, there's some soup on the stove." Marcel extended his hand towards her, motioning for Teresa to take it. She just stared at him, marveling at his sheer mass. He was a large man, and could intimidate anyone. Although he appeared dangerous and menacing, Teresa could sense that there was no evil in this man. His voice had a comforting quality; as if by its very tone it was reassuring Teresa that he meant her no harm.

Marcel had continued to stand before her, with his outstretched hand, but Teresa did not want to seem too eager, she refused to show weakness. "I can take myself to the kitchen, just lead the way."

Undaunted, Marcel lowered his arm and said, "Very well, follow me." He made an about face as he stepped through the narrow doorway and made his way down the small corridor that lead to the kitchen. Teresa was right behind him, she had started to smell the wonderful aroma of the soup, as they got closer to the kitchen.

Finally, they entered the brightly lit room; it was rustic in nature, its furnishings were a wooden table and benches. There was also a wood-burning stove in the far right corner; on that stove was an enormous black kettle of bubbling vegetable soup. Teresa's mouth was watering; she couldn't wait to fill her belly with the delicious smelling concoction.

Teresa quickly seated herself at one of the benches when she noticed that there was a freshly baked baguette and a dish of sweet cream butter on the table. She thought she had died and gone to heaven. Taking the bread into her hands, she ripped a huge chunk off the rest of the loaf. Then she took the butter knife and began to slather on as much of the butter as she could get on the bread. Teresa took in huge mouthfuls of the buttered bread; she was ravenous.

A hot piping bowl of the soup had been served in front of her; she dropped her bread and grabbed the spoon that was to her right. She dipped the spoon into the bowl and then brought it up to her waiting mouth. She had continued to slurp up her soup until the bowl was empty. Then she took her cleaned out bowl in both her hands and held it out before her, "More please", pleading to her host.

Marcel chuckled with delight as he watched Teresa polish off three more bowls of soup and devour the entire baguette. As she sighed with satisfaction, she suddenly let out a very loud burp. Her checks turned red with embarrassment. "_Pardone moi",_ she murmured.

Marcel's eyes were filled with mischievous admiration as he looked at the bedraggled girl. "It's all right, you're just showing your appreciation for my culinary skills, however wretched they may be," he stated humbly. He had been sitting on the opposite side of the table. Teresa did not notice that he had not partaken any of the meal.

"Oh, no, your soup was quite good, but then again I hadn't eaten a thing in almost a week. Dishwater would have tasted just as good, right about now." She then offered him a weak smile.

Marcel returned the smile, then suddenly his features became grim as he started to speak to her in a more serious tone, "Do you know why I saved you?" he asked.

Teresa became conscious that she had let her hunger cloud her judgment. Her demeanor quickly changed as her face transformed into a guarded mask, trying not to betray the fear and mistrust she felt towards this man.

Her gaze was an icy blue and her tone was just as cold as she addressed her alleged rescuer,"Now you hold on, I have a few questions of my own. I want to know how you found me in that alley. Who or what are the Twins really? What I saw them do could not be possible!"

Marcel remained seated across from her, unwavering. He did not stir, or flinch even though he was being bombarded with questions that he must provide the answers to if he was to show this girl the Truth. He decided to respond to her by planting a seed of doubt about the true nature of things.

"Teresa," he had spoken her name. Her jawed dropped for she didn't remember telling him what it was. Marcel proceeded with what he had to say, not wanting to stop or acknowledge her surprise. He was afraid that he might loose his nerve.

"Teresa, I know that you have seen things today that you do not understand. I also know that you suffered greatly. My intervention of this morning's incident was not by chance, I was sent to find you." He let the words linger in the air so that she might have the time to digest them. There was a puzzled look on her face, but she remained silent. Marcel understood her stillness as consent for him to continue his dissertation.

"As you are aware, there has been a war going on between the nation of Germany and the rest of this continent. The French government has been lulled into a false sense of security, for they believe that as long as they don't interfere with the Nazi's plans of total domination, France will not be conquered, but today that has all changed."

Teresa finally spoke, "How, tell me how things have changed?" There was an unexpected chill in the air; she somehow knew that whatever he told her next was not going to be pleasant news.

"Just this morning, German troops have started crossing the French border. They will be arriving in Paris at any moment. Our field operatives have further informed us that Hitler himself will be touring the capital in a few days. He will be a guest of the mayor, Marcus Mero, and his wife Penelope at their estate."

Teresa's mind was swimming in a sea of confusion. "What in the hell does the war, or any of this nonsense have to with me?" she asked.

"What if I told you that this war is just another battle in a much bigger conflict, something much larger than you or I could ever possibly imagine?" the pitch in Marcel's voice was ominous and foreboding.

Teresa's mood had developed into anger and frustration; this man was playing games with her. Why was he answering my questions with a question, she thought furiously, I don't have time for riddles!

"You haven't answered any _my_ questions!" she shouted at him as she slammed her clenched fists on the wooden tabletop, sending the soup bowl crashing onto the kitchen floor.

Teresa rapidly rose from the bench and leaned over the table putting her face in very close proximity with Marcel's own. Her eyes were flashing blue fire as they locked onto the dark brown orbs that tried to stare her down.

Her voice was barely above a deadly whisper as she said," I know who are, Marcel. I know that you took away my mother! What did you say to convince her to go with you? Were you not aware that she had a daughter that needed her?"

Marcel remained calm as he gave his response," I am sorry, Teresa, we did not mean for anything to happen to you."

"You didn't mean for anything to happen to me?" she mocked him, "Didn't my mother tell you what a monster my stepfather had been? You have no idea what I had to endure, what I had to do to survive!"

Teresa collapsed back onto the bench, as she began to sob uncontrollably. Marcel was at a loss, he did the only he could do given the circumstances; he rose from table and walked over to the weeping girl. He then knelt down beside her and said," Teresa, I know that no matter what I say, it cannot erase the past, but I can offer you the opportunity to change your future."

Still racked with sobs, Teresa lashed out at him as she wailed, "What could you possibly offer me? I should despise you for what you did to my family! You tore us apart!"

Marcel was moved by her profound despair, which he knew full well he had contributed to. Instinctively he threw his powerful arms around her fragile frame. He tried to comfort her, allowing her to finally unleash all of her fears, rage and sorrow. As held her, his hands were gently massaging her back. He whispered to her," It's all right, I'm here to help."

Teresa's inner voice was telling her to pull out of his consoling embrace, but somehow she found she couldn't. The warmth from his body was soothing her as she quieted herself down. Conflicting emotions began to occupy her heart; Marcel had been partially to blame for her hardships, but he had come to her rescue. He had given her refuge from the harshness of her life, if only for a brief moment.

She gradually raised her head from the shoulder she had been crying on. Her cerulean eyes met his waiting gaze as she asked him, "Marcel, I need to know one thing, where is my mother?"

"Marie is alive, and she's missed you terribly. She wanted to contact you, to find you, but it was far too dangerous. When we did finally return to town, we found out that Gaston had been murdered and you had vanished. We thought the worst, until we received word that someone resembling your description had been seen in Paris."

"My mother must not have tried very hard to find me, because it took her six years!" Teresa roared at him.

Marcel sighed deeply; the time had come to reveal his true purpose for his presence. He rose from his crouched position and stood on sturdy legs, towering over her. He offered his hand to Teresa once more, this time she took it. Her eyes never lost contact with his as he helped to her feet.

"Teresa, your mother is the one that sent me to find you. She wants you to join her, join us."

"Join you? Join you to do what, to go where?" she asked anxiously.

"To join the Resistance, to help us fight and win this war."

He must be mad, she thought, what or who was this Resistance? How am I going to fight the Germans? That's what the armed forces are for! Let the soldiers kill each other. I don't care!

"I don't understand how could I possibly help you fight? What makes you think that this 'Resistance' would be any match for the superior weapons and might of the German army?" she asked

"Because this war is a lie; an illusion perpetuated by a greater evil to blind you from the truth, Teresa."

"What 'truth' is that?" her breathing had become shallow. She suddenly felt as if she were standing at the edge of a great abyss, one more word, and one more syllable might push her over the brink.

"The truth is that you are a slave, Teresa, all human beings are slaves. We are bred and born into captivity to serve an unrelenting master." His words did not make any sense. What master, she asked herself, what in the hell was he talking about!

Marcel continued," Teresa, the world as you know it does not really exist. It is nothing more than a simulation, an elaborate hoax to keep mankind docile and compliant so that our very essences, our life force if you will, can be taken from us."

She twisted her hand away from Marcel's, quickly turning around to search for a way out of this strange hovel and the delusions of this lunatic. Teresa had made it half way down the corridor, when he felt Marcel's hand catch her at the wrist. His touch was tender and reassuring.

She turned around to face him as he said, "Teresa, I know that you are full of doubt, but you must have felt that something has always been not quite right with the world. The amount of misery and suffering at the hands of those in power is not coincidence; it is by design. There is a race of beings that are trying to eradicate what they deem inferior to them. Thousands of people are being slaughtered everyday like cattle because they are thought to be racially impure. However, the true horror is what is being done to all of humanity."

Teresa had overheard many of Gaston's "political" discussions with his friends. They had gone on about how Germany and its ruthless dictator were going to purify Europe and finally rid themselves of the filthy Jews. They believed that the Jews stood in the way of Europe's restoring itself to its former glory as a true world power.

Gaston went as far as to not only blame the Jews, but also anyone that did not fit the mold of the Fatherland's ideal of a perfect Aryan race. She remembered them laughing like hyenas as they referred to the 'mud people'. Gaston vehemently stated that he had a special hatred for the blacks that were infesting his country. He had wanted to personally hand every last one of them over to Nazi's and watch as they were put death.

Teresa shuddered as those memories replayed in her mind. She looked up at Marcel. Whatever he had told her this night, no matter how outrageous or preposterous it was, she could see the enormity of this man's faith and above all his sincerity. It was written all over his face. If people were being put to death because of their race, religion or creed, it was indeed horrific.

The unexpected knowledge that an entire nation was willing commit genocide had touched the inner core of her humanity. No matter how bad things had gotten for her, she still felt a kinship with the rest of mankind.

How many times had she given her last crust of bread to a hungry child or the last coins from her purse to someone less fortunate than she? It had been too many times to count.

Teresa did doubt some of Marcel's story, but that did not matter to her, she somehow felt safe with him. Where did she have to go? Back to the streets and to the likes of men like the albino twins? No, she thought, I can never go back to that. She was tired of running, of not belonging. Maybe, just maybe she could find her place in this world with Marcel and his group of rebels.

Teresa looked deeply into his mysterious eyes, a girl could get lost in those eyes, she thought to herself. "All right, Marcel, I have nothing left to loose, I'll join your Resistance, but first you must do something for me."

Marcel let out a sigh of relief as he responded, "Anything, name it."

She took in a deep breath then said, "Take me to my mother."

"Very well, but it may be a few days before I can secure an exit for us, we will have to wait for my comrades to return. In the meantime, you are to remain in this house. Do not go outside or leave for any reason, is that clear? Although we are in the countryside, it is not safe for anyone right now, especially for me. I am one of Germany's most wanted criminals. Besides, your mother would never forgive me if you were captured by the Gestapo."

Teresa nodded her head in agreement; she wasn't a stupid girl. She knew what could happen to her if the authorities took her. Her years of living on the streets had taught her well how to evade the police by keeping her mouth shut and staying invisible.

Marcel then announced that he would have to depart soon but promised to return in three days time to collect her and take her to Marie.

"Why must you leave? Please stay with me, we could wait for your friends together", she pleaded.

Marcel explained the reasons for his actions as best he could," I have to make the arrangements for your departure. I must go alone, as I told before it is not safe, the secret police are everywhere."

Teresa tried to persuade him to change his mind by forming a pretty little pout on her lips. Her hands slid up his broad chest seductively, then she encircled her slender arms around the back of his neck, begging him once more," If you stay, I can make it worth your while."

Marcel reached up, removed her limbs from his neck and pushed her away from him, creating a chasm between their bodies.

He shook his head at her and said," No, you don't have to this, I won't allow it."

Stunned by his rejection of her charms she asked, "What's wrong, don't you think I'm pretty?"

"I think that you're beautiful, just like your mother," he stated flatly.

Then it dawned on her. Oh my God, how could I be so stupid, she thought, he's in love with my mother! We'll see how long their romance lasts once I am in his heart and his bed. She was determined to make this man hers. Teresa would get back at her mother for leaving her.

Let Marie be the one to suffer. Let her be the one to cry. I will take from her what matters most, she told herself. Her mind was hell bent on vengeance.

"All right, Marcel, do what you have to do. I'll be a good girl, I promise," she reassured him.

"I will leave then, but don't worry, there are provisions in this house, food, clothing and plenty of fire wood for the cold nights," he said trying to put her at ease.

He released his gentle grip of her forearms and made his trek for the front door, stopping by the coat rack to retrieve his black full-length leather coat. Teresa stood by the entrance to the hallway watching him; transfixed by his every move, no matter how subtle. She observed as he slipped on his gun holster that encased his reloaded weapons. Then he put on the coat and finally a pair of dark, round and rimless glasses that obscured his vision.

He turned around once more to address his new recruit, "I will be back for you, I promise."

Teresa offered him a smile and said," I'll be waiting."

With that, Marcel opened the door and stepped out into the night. As soon as the door had closed behind him Teresa raced to the window to watch him walk away, wanting to commit his retreating figure into memory. What she saw next made her gasp.

Marcel had been standing in the small courtyard in front of the house, when she saw him reach into the breast pocket of his cloak and produce an odd looking device. It was rectangular in shape and fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. The face of it had buttons with what appeared to be numbers imprinted on them, emitting a green eerie light.

Marcel pushed one of the buttons, put the apparatus to his ear and spoke into it.

Teresa opened the window just a crack so she could eavesdrop on what he had to say.

"Operator," he said, "I need an exit."

End Chapter III


	4. Lost and Found

The Wages of War

Disclaimer: I know the drill; I don't own the Matrix, or any of the wonderful characters that populate that world, not even Smith. I'm just "borrowing" them for a while.

_A/N:_ This story is very AU. The main characters have been given new identities and placed right smack in the middle of the Matrix's version of WWII.

Warning: There will be scenes of graphic violence, torture and death in later chapters. If you're the squeamish type, don't read this. Also there will be sadistic sex and violence against women.

Chapter Four

Lost and Found

It was a busy Friday afternoon, at the D.C. Diner. The lunch crowd had just rushed in. Government employees, bicycle couriers and tourists alike were all trying to pile into the greasy spoon, to get a bite to eat. The scents of homemade apple pie, two-alarm chili and cheeseburgers were co-mingling in the air. It was the kind of place where one could still get a cup of hot coffee for a dime.

The waitresses were always friendly and knew most of their clientele by name. The service was good, but as expected, the food was lousy. The regulars didn't seem to care about the quality of their meals; they came because it was close to work. The diner was centrically located in the heart of downtown Washington D.C. Tourists flocked to it mainly because it was within walking distance of most of the monuments and museums.

Shortly after 12:15 pm, a short, wiry man, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a faded fedora hat, quickly shuffled through the front door. He sat himself at the first available booth. He removed his hat and placed it on the Formica topped table.

A vapid waitress wearing a nametag displaying her name 'Dixie' approached the booth to take the man's order as she popped her chewing gum between her teeth rather loudly. "What'll it be, honey?" she asked in a high-pitched voice that irritated the man. It was like fingernails on a chalkboard. His face grimaced in disapproval. She's past her prime, he thought nastily.

He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts, so he said the first thing that came to him, "I'd like a cup of coffee, black, please."

Dixie sighed as she asked," You just want coffee? How would you like a nice slice of pie to go with that, huh?" She was hustling for a tip any way she could.

The man raised his head to look at her overly made up face and firmly confirmed his order, "I was just want coffee, and some privacy, if you don't mind?"

"Golly, mister, you don't have to get testy, I'll bring you your cup of Joe," she said as she scurried away to fill his order. What a big spender, she thought to herself.

Just then, the front door opened again. A tall, lanky young man in his mid to late twenties stepped through the door. His jet-black hair was shortly cut, offsetting the milky whiteness of his skin. Brown almond shaped eyes searched the diner until they found what they were looking for: the wiry, nervous little man seated at a booth.

He was being waved over, given an open invitation. The young man cautiously strolled over to the booth where the older man was sitting. He slid into the vinyl-covered bench across from him. Dixie arrived shortly afterward with the first man's coffee. When she saw that someone else had joined him, she smiled brightly at the attractive new comer as she asked, "You want anything, cutie?"

Before he could give a response, the strange little man answered for him, "He'll have coffee, too." He then addressed the boy for the first time since his arrival, "Is it still cream and two sugars, Tommy?"

"Yeah, I guess it is."

Both men waited for Dixie to return with Tommy's coffee and depart from their booth before either of them spoke. When their privacy was granted, Tommy was the first to speak," Well, Doc, you got me here. I can't say that I'm thrilled with your choice of location. Washington? After the crap we pulled, I'm surprised you didn't move to Siberia."

Dr. Waxenberg smiled thinly at his former pupil as he said, "You know what they say, hide in plain sight. Speaking of which, where have you been hanging your hat lately?"

Tommy was hesitant, not wanting the reveal too much in his reply; "I've been everywhere and nowhere, if you catch my drift."

The professor knew only too well. He could only imagine to what lengths this boy had to go to keep himself out of the ever-watchful eye of his pursuers. He felt a certain swell of pride, the kid looked all right, he thought.

Looking at Tommy after all of these years, made the doctor feel nostalgic. He almost longed for the good old days, when his reputation as an educator was unimpeachable and he had been a member in good standing within the scientific community. He laughed to himself as he remembered the first time he had ever laid eyes on a seventeen year-old beanpole named Thomas Andrew Ackerman.

"_Now class, please settle down. We have much material to cover, and not much time." The man standing at the center of the auditorium was waiting patiently, as his pupils all tried to find their seats. _

_When he felt certain that he could commence with the day's lesson, the unmistakable sound of the auditorium door being slammed shut was heard. He could see someone hastily trying to make it to his or her seat without being noticed but failing miserably in the process._

_He addressed the source of the disruption, "Excuse me, young man, but do you know what time it is?"_

_The young boy gave him a vacant stare, like a deer caught in headlights. He sheepishly asked, "Are you talking to me, sir?"_

_The man replied, "Yes, I'm talking to you Mr.?"_

"_Ackerman, sir, Thomas A. Ackerman," he informed the professor._

"_Well, Mr. Ackerman, I expect all of my students to be on time. However, you must think that you are special. That the rules do not apply to you. Well Mr. Ackerman, either you find a way to make it to my class on time everyday, or you'll find yourself repeating this course next semester. Is that clear?"_

_Thomas gulped as he acknowledged the professor, "Yes sir, Dr. Waxenberg, it won't happen again."_

"_Very well, Mr. Ackerman, please take your seat."_

_He was about turn around to face the chalkboard, when he heard the young man say, "It's just Tommy sir, if you don't mind. 'Mr. Ackerman' is what they called my dad."_

_Giggles and snickers from the other students started filling the auditorium. This boy was becoming a nuisance. The teacher decided that he should make an example of this most bothersome pupil. Turning fully around so that could get a commanding view of his entire class, he once again addressed the cause of the interference._

"_Tommy is it? All right, Tommy, as you know this class is Advanced Studies of Ancient Encryptions. I teach mainly the ones written by the Babylonians, the Inca, and Maya and of course Egyptian civilizations."_

_Tommy remained silent; he did not want to respond for fear of further angering the professor and causing more embarrassment for himself. He had already taken his seat and was trying to shrink into it in a feeble attempt to disappear. Tommy really needed to pass this class or he would loose his scholarship. He couldn't afford to be expelled, not now. _

_He had been the first one in his family to attend college and not just any school; this was Harvard for Christ's sake! He had beaten out hundreds of other potential candidates for the prestigious Harvard Science Grant. He had done well in his other courses, he had aced them in fact, but he knew that Waxenberg's class was one of the toughest ones to pass. If he wasn't careful, he was going to blow it and have to go back home with his tail between his legs._

_Waxenberg continued speaking to Tommy as if there had been no one else in the large lecture theater, "As you may or may not be aware, the civilizations I've just mentioned did not have an alphabet as we know it today, they did not communicate with the written word. They carved images into stone to represent different aspects of daily life, religious rituals and astronomical charts to study the stars of the night sky. What you may not know Tommy, is that they all had something that set them apart from other early cultures."_

_The professor paused for dramatic effect then went on to ask," Do you know what that common dominator was?" He leaned forward a bit as he clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for the response that he was so positive wouldn't be given._

_Then it came, the answer to his question," It was mathematical code, sir." Tommy's voice had been low but full of confidence._

_The professor would have been impressed if he hadn't have been so shocked. In all of his fifteen years of teaching, no one had ever gotten that question right, no one that is until now. He decided to prove to himself and to the rest of the class that he still had the upper hand. Without another word, Dr. Waxenberg turned to his blackboard, took up the available piece of chalk as if it were a foil and began to scribble furiously. _

_When he had finished, he stepped away from the board, so that everyone could see what he had written. On the black surface of the writing board appeared one of the most complicated and longest equations he had ever composed. The corners of the doctor's mouth curled up in a slight smirk. That boy is never going to solve this, he thought, never._

_His amber eyes bored into Tommy, daring him to try to come up with the right answer. Silently, the boy rose from his seat, walked towards the professor, he had taken up the challenge. He hovered over the instructor as he asked, "I know the answer to this, but would you like me to show my work on the board?"_

"_You mean to tell me, my young friend that you have figured out the correct sum to this equation? Impossible, it took some of the most brilliant minds of our generation, days to figure it out. Now you stand there wanting me to believe that what took them hours to decipher, you've manage to unravel in just one glance?"_

"_No disrespect, sir, but I would have to say yes, I did," stated Tommy decisively._

_Dr. Waxenberg mockingly said," Well, let's have it, then, this answer of yours. Enlighten us with the wisdom ages!"_

_Unfaltering Tommy responded," The sum is 303."_

_An unexpected hush fell over the lecture hall as the students continued to wordlessly observe this clash of intellect between their teacher and the new guy. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. It was a battle of wills, and only one would emerge the victor. The suspense was killing them; they just had to know which one had won._

_Suddenly, one of the female students spoke up. She was a petite brunette, with hazel eyes. She had been wearing a tight angora sweater, which accentuated her ample bosom. Obviously she was in danger of flunking out and had worn the constricting garment in the hopes of catching Dr. Waxenberg's attention. He was known to exchange a passing grade for 'special' favors._

"_Excuse me, professor, but I just got to know, is he right?" she asked innocently._

"_Yes, he is." The professor had conceded his defeat._

_A whole year went by after the classroom showdown, and Tommy had continued to completely amaze and astound his teacher and fellow classmates. His ability to crack any equation, any code was uncanny. It was as if he could just see the answers in his head. The doctor had taken this boy under his wing. Their relationship went beyond the teacher/student bond. They had truly become friends. Tommy had even managed to win the respect and admiration of the faculty and most of the student body. However, there was one aspect of Tommy's life that Dr. Waxenberg could not understand. It was his complete and utter lack of a social life. Tommy preferred to pour over encrypted texts for hours, days even, rather than engage in any of the normal activities of colligate life, such as dating some of the gorgeous co-eds._

_More for me, thought the professor. He had developed a penchant for partaking of the pleasures that some of the more dim-witted beauties had to offer. What had surprised him was that Tommy was a good-looking kid; he should be beating the girls off with a stick. Instead he showed no interest whatsoever for the fairer sex. When he pressed him about it, Tommy simply had told him that he was waiting for the right girl to come along. _

_Then one blustery day in late October, the professor approached his student with an idea for an experiment. He wanted to test his friend's abilities and push them beyond the confines of the classroom. If he successfully completed the task, it would prove that Tommy was indeed a true prodigy. What the professor failed to reveal at the time, was that the endeavor that they would embark upon was very risky and very illegal._

"_Tommy, my boy, I have something very special for you to de-code for me," announced the professor._

"_What is it?" asked Tommy._

"_Some friends of mine let me borrow some documents. It seems they are having a hard time figuring out what they are. I told them about your skills so they'd like you to take a whack at it," the doctor explained._

"_All right, let me take a look, by the way what do you think they are?" the young man inquired._

"_I don't know really, the best I've been able to ascertain is that they're some kind of blue prints, but they're so encoded not even I can break the cryptograms."_

_Dr. Waxenberg placed the small black briefcase he had always carried onto the table that Tommy had been sitting at in his cluttered dormitory. He undid the metal latch and lifted the lid of the case. He then reached in and pulled out a manila file folder that contained the much talked about papers. He handed the folder to Tommy's waiting hand._

_Hesitantly, Tommy opened the folder and removed its contents. He carefully laid out the documents on the table. His dark eyes scanned every page thoroughly. His face had remained stoic as he continued to absorb the information laid out before him. He then lifted his eyes to look at the professor, and asked him, "Doc, where did you get these?"_

"_I told you some friends of mine," insisted the doctor._

"_Well, your 'friends' must either work for the military or they're little green men from Mars."_

"_What did you see, tell me, please?" asked the doctor uneasily. _

"_These are plans for a machine of some kind, but nothing I've ever seen before. It looks like metallic octopus; only this calamari is equipped with some heavy-duty artillery. According to these plans, it's designed for a single purpose." _

"_What purpose?"_

"_To search and destroy anything that it comes in contact with, namely us, humans. Now, Doc, I want you to be straight with me, where did you get these?"_

"_Well you know that little red headed dame I've playing hide the salami with? She's a secretary at the Department of Defense. She told me that they were working on some real top-secret projects down there, but she had no idea what. My curiosity got the better of me and during one of our little rendezvous, I convinced her bring a copy of the plans the next time she came to Boston to see me."_

_Tommy's face had lost all of its color; he looked as if the wind had just gotten knocked out of him. He glanced over at the doctor and said, "Whoa, Doc, you mean to tell me that this thing is being built by the Feds? Do you have any idea what they'll do to us if they find out that we know about this?"_

_A few days later Waxenberg had read in the Boston Herald that a woman named Emily Lewis had been found dead in her apartment down in Washington D.C. The paper further stated that there was no sign of forced entry; however the cause of death had been from a single gunshot wound to the head. The paper lastly mentioned that she had been a secretary at the Department of Defense. A sudden sense of dread ran through him._

_Later on that day, he had been called into Dean Atkins office. The professor had been presented with a large stack of photographs depicting the good doctor and some of his female students engaging in every sex act imaginable. He was terminated on the spot, his tenure revoked. Dean Atkins finally said, "Gerald, I want you leave the hallowed halls of this institution as quietly and as discretely as you can. The records of your termination will be sealed for obvious reasons. We can't let a scandal like this get back to the parents of these young ladies. The very foundation and the principles on which this university was founded would be rocked to its very core. Gerald let me say that you are a disgrace to your profession, now get out of my sight."_

_The professor hurried out of the dean's office and tried to make it back to his classroom undetected to gather his personal belongings. As he approached the door to the lecture hall, he ran into Tommy who had been waiting for him for over an hour. Both men quickly stepped into the room so that they could speak privately._

"_Hey Doc, what happened in the dean's office?" Tommy asked half-heartedly._

"_Tommy, I've been dismissed, it seems that someone has been taking pictures of my private moments," he said._

"_Holy shit, Doc, didn't I tell you to be careful? You don't think that this has anything to do with those papers?"_

"_Tommy, there's been some pretty bizarre things going on, things I can't explain. First Emily is found shot dead, now I just got the boot. I'm afraid that they'll come for you next." _

_Tommy's eyes narrowed as he asks the doctor, "Who's going to come for me? The Feds, you can't be serious?" His eyes widened when his friend nodded his affirmation, "Oh, Jesus, I got to get out of here! Damn it Doc, why did you have to bring that stuff to me?" _

"_I'm sorry Tommy, I really didn't mean for any of this to happen, I just wanted to see how good you were. Well, kid you've proven you're the best there is". He gave him a crooked smile._

_Just then they both heard the deep baritone of Dean Atkins' voice. He had been speaking to someone just on the other side of the door. _

"_Are you sure the professor is no threat to us?" asked a man's voice._

"_Yes sir," responded the dean," I've just dismissed him. If he knows what's good for him he will never speak of what he knows."_

"_Yes, you were quite persuasive, although I disapprove of your vulgar methods. Now there's the matter of the boy that we must address, immediately. He has seen and knows too much already," the mystery voice coldly declared._

"_Don't worry sir, I have my men searching the school for him as we speak," assured the dean._

"_Good, nothing must stand in the way of Project Sentinel, nothing, is that clear?"_

_The dean responded," I understand sir". _

_Then the sounds of withdrawing footsteps were heard, when they had completely dissipated, the professor turned fretfully to his pupil, "Tommy, you've got to run or God only knows what will happen to you."_

_The young man was terrified, he didn't know what to do or where to go. Waxenberg retrieved his wallet from his pants pocket and pulled out two crisp fifty-dollar bills. "Take it, kid, I know it's not much, but, it's all I have. Now get your ass out of here."_

_Tommy needed no further encouragement; he quickly took the money out of his friend's hand and ran without ever looking back._

Dr. Waxenberg was brought back from his trip down Memory Lane when he heard Tommy ask him, "Hey Doc, are you O.K.?" You seemed to have spaced out there for a minute."

"I'm sorry kid, seeing you again after all this time just brought it all back, you know?"

"Yeah, me too, Doc. Now I want to know why you needed to see me. That goddamned personal ad was spooky. When I read the words 'Looking for an octopus wrangler' I didn't know what to think. It was enough to make me come here though."

The professor sighed then said," Tommy, you're in danger. I brought you here to warn you that our 'friends' in the government have contacted me. They know all about what happened eight years ago, including the reason for my dismissal. Those records were sealed Tommy, if they hadn't been I wouldn't have received the nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize, but somehow they managed to get their hands on them."

Tommy didn't like what he was hearing, if the Feds knew all about the doctor's indiscretions, then it would only be a matter time before they caught up to him. Then the realization of the true nature of this little reunion hit him like a Mack truck.

"You set me up, you asshole, you set me up!" he shouted at his betrayer.

"You're a goddamned Judas! You didn't care about me; you only cared about saving your own skin! What did they offer you, huh, Doc, reinstatement at Harvard? Government grants to fund your work? Tell me, you bastard!"

The doctor tried to make his mouth work, he wanted to offer up an apology of some sort, but he couldn't make a sound or form any coherent words. He looked like a fish out of water gasping for air. Tommy was disgusted by this entire affair; he wanted nothing more to do with this pathetic excuse for a man. He started to rise from the table when he felt the sensation of a pair of large and heavy hands pushing him back down into his seat. Tommy's head whipped around behind him. What he saw almost made him wet his pants. There were two uniformed military police officers holding him down.

"Mr. Ackerman, please come with us," said one of the men. Tommy knew that his years of running, dodging and hiding had come to an end. He also knew if he put up any resistance there would be hell to pay.

"All right gentleman, you win, I'll go quietly, but there's just one thing I've got to do." Then without warning, Tommy twisted out of the MP's hold of him, and swiftly lunged across the table punching Dr. Gerald Waxenberg squarely in the jaw, knocking him out cold. The officers pulled Tommy back before he could do any more harm. It was at this time that Tommy realized that all eyes were on him; the other diner patrons had been watching the strange events as they unfolded.

Sensing Tommy's awareness of the lookers on, one of the MP's addressed the crowd of gawking customers, "There's nothing to see here, folks, this official government business." Obediently, everyone returned to their own concerns, doing their best not to pay attention to the four men in booth number 101.

"Mr. Ackerman, we must go, now, no more outbursts please or we will be forced to handcuff you," stated one of the soldiers.

Tommy rose from the table obeying their request. As all three of them began to walk towards the door he felt the urge to ask, "Hey what about the Doc? What's going to happen to him?"

"He is no longer necessary, and he will be dealt with in due time."

Tommy's thoughts were all a blur, what did they mean by 'no longer necessary', he wondered. Oh my God, he realized, they're going to kill him! No, his mind screamed, I can't let that happen. He may be a jerk, but he was my friend I can't let these creeps just snuff him out, I just can't. Then he did the unthinkable, he made a grab for one of the MP's side arms, but he was too slow. He felt the hard cold steel of a gun's muzzle being pressed into the back of his head.

"Don't even think about, kid," warned one of the MP's. Then he commanded his companion "Jackson, handcuff him." The second officer did as he was told and produced a pair of steel manacles, which he skillfully placed around each of Tommy's wrists. Jackson addressed the first officer, "The package is secure, Johnson." The handcuffs were on so tight; the metal was slicing into Tommy's skin.

Jackson led Tommy out the door while Johnson remained inside, Tommy could see him approach the professor's unconscious form and lift him over his powerful shoulder as if he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. He walked outside to meet up with Jackson and Tommy on the sidewalk in front of the diner. Just then a shiny black car pulled up at the curb. The door to the backseat flew open towards them.

Then Tommy heard a man's voice come from the inside of the vehicle. "Mr. Ackerman, would you like to go for a ride?" Then he felt himself being shoved into the backseat face first. The car door slammed behind him. He wriggled his way into a sitting position so that he could face the source of the voice that had invited him into the car. He saw a uniformed man in his mid to late fifties, with a grey receding hairline. His eyes were shade of silver grey. The front of his uniform jacket was decorated with medals of achievement, including the Purple Heart, and the Bronze Star. On each of his shoulder epilates were four gold stars. Tommy was no fool; he knew that he was in the presence of the top brass of the U.S. military.

The man broke the ice, "Well, Mr. Ackerman, you were a tough one to find, but please let me assure you that I mean you no harm. As a matter of fact, I'm here to make you an offer you can't refuse."

"What offer, and who in the hell are you?" he asked, knowing that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Son, I am General Dwight Eisenhower and since you'll be working for me, you will address me as 'sir', is that clear?" the general stared the boy down with those cold gray eyes.

All Tommy could mange to croak out was, "Holy shit."

Eisenhower gave Tommy a smirk then said, "Holy shit, indeed.'

End Chapter Four


	5. Awakenings

The Wages of War

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix Trilogy, or any of the characters. I wished I owned Smith though; I would make him my love slave. Oh well, a girl can dream can't she? Anyway, I'm doing this purely for my enjoyment and hopefully the entertainment of others. I don't intend to make any money.

_A/N_: This chapter is about Teresa's and Tommy's unplugging out of the Matrix and their induction into the Real World. If I haven't mentioned it before, this is my first fan fiction, ever. So please read and review. I would like you to honest in your critique of my story, dear readers. I'm big girl; I can take the good with the bad.

I also wanted to mention that this story takes place during another time and another Matrix. The characters maybe somewhat familiar, but not quite who you may think they are.

Special thanks go to Akenaten and Selina for being the first ones to review!

Well on with the show!

Chapter Five

Awakenings

A large, powerful automobile was making its way down the dirt road that led into the small provincial town of Dijon. The rural settlement was located about 100 kilometers just outside the city of Paris. Clouds of dust were billowing from underneath the car's tires as it continued its journey on the unpaved path. It was another glorious morning in the French countryside, with its green rolling hills dotted with colorful wild flowers. Herds of sheep flocked on open pastures, grazing on the plentiful grass. It was a picturesque scene, right out of a Van Gough painting, where of course a speeding black car would seem oddly out of place.

Seated inside the vehicle were four people, three men and one woman. Two of the men occupied the driver and passenger seats, while the remaining male sat next to the female in the backseat. The man and woman were holding hands.

"Marcel, are sure about this? I don't know if Teresa is ready for what we have to show her." The woman said worriedly.

"Marie, my love, don't worry so much, I believe that she's more than ready to accept the truth. Besides, she is every bit her mother's daughter, strong and resourceful," replied the man with a reassuring smile.

Marie returned her lover's smile rather shakily. The feeling of apprehension had not left her ever since she had received word that her daughter had been found. Although she was anxious to see Teresa, she instinctively knew that her daughter would not give her a warm reception. She had left her only child without another thought to follow a man that she barely knew based on what a fortune teller had told her. Her life since then had never been the same; her only regret was not being able to take her daughter with her.

Marie sighed and closed her eyes as memories of days gone by threatened to overwhelm her.

A happy couple was seen taking a moonlight stroll along the Champs des Elysees. Street lamps illuminated the city, giving it a warm, hazy glow. The night air was cool and crisp, causing the man to draw the woman closer to him.

_The pair was like any other couple in love, only interested in each other's company. They were so engrossed in conversation; they did not pay heed to the wagging tongues or the angry glances of those they passed. They did not seem to care about the slurs and jeers that were whispered behind their backs. As they continued to walk, their heads were held high. They allowed nothing to affect them. Their love was the well they drew their strength from. _

_The man stopped suddenly, feeling an overwhelming desire to take his lover into a strong embrace and kiss her deeply, passionately. Giving into his want, he brought his brawny arms around the trim waist of the woman, whirling her around to face him, pressing her body against his. Sliding his eager hands up the length of her back, his fingers entangled themselves into the wild tresses of her long ebony hair. He brought his full lips down upon hers, kissing her gently at first, then his tongue slowly snaked out of his mouth and started to trace the outline of her lips, maddening her, setting her entire being on fire. The woman moaned as her mouth opened, blossoming underneath his, allowing him access to glide tongue against hers. Her soft, delicate hands had found their way inside the long leather coat her paramour had been wearing, moving them across the silky material of the royal purple shirt that covered his chest, massaging his pectoral muscles. She could feel his erect nipples protruding from underneath the garment, demonstrating to her the level of his arousal. _

_The very public display of affection had the desired affect on the unwelcome spectators, as they quickly disbursed to parts unknown. The couple leisurely held each other for a few moments longer before slowly unraveling from each other's embrace, the man planted a light kiss the woman's lips then another one on her pert little nose._

_Then the amorous duo burst out in laughter, when they realized that their disapproving audience had gone._

"_Marcel, I love you, but you are a terrible man," the woman said between her giggles._

"_Ah Marie, how can you say that I'm terrible? What's wrong with a man wanting to show to the world how he feels about the woman he loves? I wanted those bigots to get an eyeful," he said with his eyes full of mirth._

_Marie suddenly turned her head away; she didn't want Marcel to see the sadness that had dominated her thoughts. Her blue eyes, which were almost like her daughter's, with the exception of the few specs of golden green, filled with tears. The moment of happiness she had just experienced was overshadowed by sorrow. _

_This night was her last in this fabricated dream world she had come to know as the Matrix. She would be leaving behind nothing that she would miss, save one, her daughter, her child Teresa. It was this fact alone that was causing her heart to break. Although she had been told that Teresa was not a child that she actually birthed, the maternal instinct was still there. Teresa was still a part of her, because they shared the same genetic make up. It didn't matter to her that they were not mother and daughter in the traditional sense; she loved her little girl regardless of that fact. The bond they shared was real, even if their memories were not._

_Marie's life had been a sham up until the moment she met Marcel. He had been the only one that had shown her kindness and the meaning of true love. Despite what the rest of the world thought of their union, she had never been happier. It did not matter to her the color of his skin; she had looked beyond the racial boundaries and seen his inner beauty._

_The two men that previously occupied a place in her life had been her first husband, Jean Luc, who was a sweet man but much older than she. She was forced to marry him when she was only seventeen, a child bride. She had Teresa a year later, the only bright spot in her otherwise dreary existence. Marie had been a dutiful wife and she was well provided for, but it was a loveless union._

_Then there was Gaston. Marie shuddered in revulsion at the very thought of him. _

_She regretted the day she had ever let him enter her life and totally dominate her. He was a volatile man, prone to fits of rage, especially when he had been drinking. His lovemaking had been crude and sometimes it was downright savage, it was repulsive. He cared for nothing except gratifying his own voracious and insatiable lust. Many were the nights when Marie received vicious beatings with his leather strap when she did not comply with his demands for carnal pleasure. When she could endure no more, she had the locks changed on her boudoir door so that Gaston could no longer trespass where he was not welcome. _

_His political and ideological beliefs also left much to be desired. They were completely opposite from her own. She was raised to believe that all people were equal in the eyes of the Lord. Her church had taught her to love her neighbor, but she soon learned that even amongst God's flock there were some people that were very selective about which neighbors were worthy of that love._

_Her fellow parishioners and even her priest had been hypocrites, professing to love Christ and live by his teachings. However these so called keepers of the Word were nothing more than charlatans for they shunned those in society that were deemed unsuitable except in the way of being a servant or a hired hand. Disillusioned, Marie turned her back on her faith never to step foot into a church again. _

_Gaston's foolhardy affiliation with the local fascist organization had been too much for her to bear. Night after night she would listen to those arrogant blowhards ranting about the alleged infestation of Jews, blacks and gypsies that were supposedly putting a stranglehold on France, draining it of its precious resources and threatening to taint the French bloodlines. _

_Gaston claimed that he was pure blood and had always boasted that he could trace his ancestry all the way to Napoleon Bonaparte. You stupid man, thought Marie, shows how much you know, Napoleon wasn't even French, you dolt, he was born on the island of Corsica. _

_He went on, madly proclaiming the need to ally with the German's cause, for they too were struggling to preserve the purity of their race, their people. He did not want these mud people, as he called them, to mix with their kind and bring forth nothing but half-breed children. His friends loudly pledged their allegiance to Gaston, and their misguided values._

_One day Marie ventured into town, hoping that she could make it the jewelers before they closed. Stuffed into her black patent leather purse were a few precious belongings, among them her mother's diamond pendant and her grand mother's pure silver Rosary. She had carefully hidden her jewels and important documents under a loose floorboard in her bedroom, which she kept covered by a Persian rug. From time to time, when money was scarce, she extracted a few trinkets from her hiding place and made another sad pilgrimage to the jeweler to sell another piece of her heart._

_Unfortunately, she had no choice in the matter. She and her young daughter were on the verge of destitution and her oafish husband had done nothing to improve their monetary situation. The vineyard was on the brink of bankruptcy and her entire inheritance from Jean Luc had been spent on Gaston's failed business ventures and God only knows what else. _

_Marie had been so deep in thought; she had no awareness of the route she had taken, causing her to abruptly collide with another pedestrian. The contents of her purse were spilled all over the sidewalk as a result._

"_I'm so sorry Mademoiselle, I didn't see you," said a man's very apologetic voice._

"_No, it's entirely my fault; I should have paid better attention. I must have been daydreaming," replied Marie, as she bent down to scoop up her scattered items. _

_The man also crouched down to assist in recovering her property before it got trampled on. Once everything was in order, the man rose and extended his hand to help Marie to her feet. As she rose, her eyes were suddenly captivated by what she saw. Standing before her was the most exotic looking man she had ever seen. _

_He stood about 6' 2" and possessed striking masculine features, which included a pair of very full and sensuous lips. His eyes were like two shiny onyx stones peering into hers. She had the sensation that he had looked into her very soul and seen the unhappiness that dwelled there. His skin was the color of dark bronze. _

_The only odd thing about him was his clean-shaven head. Bald men were a rarity in this part of the world. Somehow, the lack of hair suited him, making him appear more virile._

_Marie smiled at the gallant stranger as she said, "Merci Monsieur. You must think that I'm nothing but a clumsy nit wit, bumping haphazardly into people."_

_The man smiled back giving her hand a little pat before releasing it, "Think nothing of it, I wouldn't mind if you were to bash into me on a regular basis."_

_The comment brought a rosy glow to her cheeks as she blushed uncontrollably. He was flirting with her and she liked it. Normally she ignored the attention she received from men on the street. They usually shouted out catcalls or sent a wolf whistle her way. This was France after all, and the men here were notorious for being constantly on the prowl. However, this man seemed different. He exuded a feral quality, yet there was gentleness about him. The combination was intoxicating._

_She could hardly believe her ears as she heard herself say, "Please let me make it up to you. May I invite you to lunch? There's a little café just around the corner from here."_

_To her surprise he accepted her invitation. Thus began the romance of Marcel Dubois and Marie Dupree. Since the day they had literally ran into each other on the street, they were inseparable. Marie would invent excuses at first, to go into town to meet with Marcel. However as time went on, she found that she didn't care if Gaston was suspicious or not. _

_Her happiness knew no bounds. She knew that this man was finally the soul mate she had been searching for all of her life and didn't care what the townsfolk thought of her being seen with a black man._

_The couple would spend hours discussing philosophy, theology and politics. Marcel was highly intelligent when he spoke, but was not condescending. He allowed Marie to express herself and form her own opinions, unlike Gaston that believed that women should be seen not heard. _

_Marie would go on for hours about her favorite subject, her daughter Teresa. She told Marcel about her love for her only child and how she worried that Gaston might harm her one of these days. There was no love loss between those two, many had been the time that Marie had thrown herself into harm's way and received the blows that had been meant for her daughter. Marcel had listened intently as she described the nightmare that was her marital life. _

_He then placed his large hand on hers and said, "Marie, what if I told you that there is a way out of all of this? What if I told you that this life that you've been leading is a lie?"_

_She was perplexed; she did not understand what he had just asked her, "What do you mean a lie?" Marie inquired._

"_Marie, everything that you see around you, everything that you touch, taste and feel is nothing more than illusions. They are vagaries of perception. The world as you know it doesn't really exists."_

"_What are you telling me that I'm not really here right now, sitting with you? My entire existence has been fabricated?"_

"_Precisely," he stated._

"_I don't believe it! I won't believe it. You're insane! This was a mistake, I should have never started this, I must go," she cried rising from her chair to leave. Marcel's hand shot out and grasped her upper arm._

"_Marie, please don't go, I love you," was his impassioned plea._

_His declaration of love had shocked her and caused her to cease her attempt to escape. Marie knew that she had already fallen in love with him, completely, but she had been unsure about how Marcel felt about her. She never dreamed that he would return her feelings, now here he was verbalizing his sentiment. Marcel stood up from the table they always shared at the little café, his eyes on hers, unwavering. He placed both of his hands gently on either side of her face and drew her up towards his hungry lips. The sensation of that first kiss melted Marie's heart as she surrendered her mouth to him._

_As the kiss continued and deepened, a throng of onlookers had gathered around. They were shocked and appalled at the sight of this black man kissing white woman in public. Among the crowd of people, was one of Gaston's associates and he couldn't wait to tell him what he had just witnessed. Madame Dupree's days were numbered._

_Marie and Marcel broke off their kiss and smiled at one another. Their bond had been sealed. They both knew that nothing could come between them. Marie was still concerned however about what Marcel had told her about the nature of the world. She had to know the truth._

"_Marcel, I don't know what to believe, you've told me things that I can't begin to fathom."_

"_I am offering you a chance to be free. To see the world for what it really is. I want to show you, but you must trust me, my love." Marcel was trying to persuade her._

"_I do trust you, I don't know why, but I do. Please teach me what you know."_

_Marcel took a deep breath before he started to explain as best he could about something called the Matrix. He went into great detail on its history and the ongoing war with omnipotent machines that were keeping humanity enslaved. _

_He continued to give details of his part in the rebellion against these machines and that he was one of its leaders. He was a part of something called the Resistance, which happened to be a group of freed humans that would go in and out of this Matrix to try to free as many people as they could. However in the eyes of the authorities, he was seen as an outlaw, a criminal. Marcel was a wanted man._

_He also claimed that there was a prophecy. It had been foretold long ago that someone would rise up against their oppressors and bring an end to the struggle. This person would be able to bend the rules of the Matrix to their will and posses unimaginable powers. It was also prophesied that Marcel would find this would- be savior, a messiah of some sort. Then finally Marcel informed her that his time was short and that he would have to leave soon to go back into the Real World, to his ship and to rejoin his comrades in a place called Zion._

"_Zion?" she asked as she continued to listen with fascination._

"_Yes, it is the last known human strong hold on Earth. Its location is deep underground where the Machines can't get to us."_

_Marie shook her head as she tried to make sense of this unbelievable tale. To her it sounded like a Jules Vern novel or something that was written by the British science fiction author, H.G. Wells. It was all too fantastical to believe, and yet Marcel seemed so sincere and full of conviction. She was enthralled as he went to explain his quality of life in Zion and how harsh the conditions were for the rest of the freed humans. What struck a cord with her the most was that despite the kinship he felt for his brethren, he lacked a companion, an intimate relationship in the Real World. Her heart went out to him because she too had the same feelings of loneliness and longing._

_Her small hand reached up to gently caress his face, trying to somehow erase the pained look displayed on it. She wanted nothing more but to remain at his side for the rest of her days, whether it was here or in the alleged "Real World"._

_"Marcel, when will you be leaving?" she asked desperately._

_"I must depart within twenty-four hours, why do you ask?"_

_"Because I want to go with you," she said simply._

_"Marie, are you sure? Are you ready to leave this all behind?" Marcel asked worriedly._

_"Yes," she answered him," I want to be with you, but there is one thing that I must ask for in return."_

_Marcel already knew what she was going to request, "You wish for Teresa to go with you," he stated as matter-of-factly._

"_Yes, I do. You can't expect me to leave my daughter, what kind of mother would I be if I did? I can't leave her, I just can't! Not after everything she's had to put up with since I married Gaston!" she cried in anguish._

_Marcel did not respond right away. For the first time since he revealed the truth to Marie, he was unsure of himself. He could not with any certainty guarantee an exit for her child. Time was against him. He'd be lucky if managed to get Marie and himself safe passage out of the Matrix. He wanted have Marie with him and feared what might happen to her if Gaston should ever find out about them. He also knew that her child was the only person she held dear in this reality._

_He needed guidance, and he needed it right away. There was only one person in the entire vastness Matrix that he could go to for help; he must seek her out without delay. He gave Marie a hurried kiss and assured her that everything would be all right_

"_There is someone that I need to consult. She is very wise and I trust her judgment completely. She alone will know what needs to be done." He somehow felt better now that he knew that he would be seeing the intuitive and all knowing seer known as Ophelia. He told Marie to return to her home and collect her daughter. He also gave her instructions on where they would all meet in a few hours. _

_As Marcel watched Marie start to make her journey back home, he was completely oblivious to the vigilant pair of eyes that were boring into the back of his skull. The man that had kept up his surveillance of the couple was a known associate of Gaston, a man by the name of Pierre. He had been in the crowd that had witnessed the kiss between Marie and Marcel. _

_The observer silently walked over to his waiting automobile and got in it. As he started the engine, he thought to himself, just wait until I tell Gaston about what his little wife has been up to. He won't believe his ears. He turned his car around and went in the opposite direction that Marie had been heading in as he drove towards the French Socialist Party Headquarters. He needed to find Gaston Dupree as soon as possible. The black man must be done away with, Pierre thought, but first Gaston must discipline his wife as all Frenchmen did since time in memorial, with a strong hand and a closed fist. Miss High and Mighty Marie Dupree would pay for her betrayal of such an upstanding citizen as Gaston. Unbeknownst to Pierre however, Gaston had not left his house yet to head out to the Headquarters. _

_Moments later as Marie approached her home; she observed that there was strange black car parked right next to the white picket fence. The Mercedes Benz sedan had two small red flags with the symbol of the German Nazi Party printed on them, the Swastika. A feeling of great trepidation washed over her, as she recognized the car. It was Commandant Schmidt's vehicle. He had visited her home on other occasions, mostly to see Gaston on political matters and to lend his support to the 'cause'. She had also known that he had been the guest speaker one night at the FSP Headquarters two months earlier. _

_Marie remembered that Gaston had had the look of a lovesick puppy as he had watched the Commandant address the crowd. His speech had been mechanical with a dead pan delivery. The man had the personality of an automaton, but somehow that fact had been lost on the multitude as he continued to speak about the plague that was ravishing the land._

"_The Jews are a virus, a disease," he had said," but with your support we can rid ourselves of them and the other sub-species. France and Germany will finally be purified as will the rest of Europe. It will be as it was, as it should be; with only the Aryan race left to rule." His steely blue eyes had an evil glint to them, shining like twin daggers as he stared out into the mob. _

_Marie intuitively knew that she could not enter her house, so she slowly crept underneath the parlor window as she heard voices emanating from there. What she overheard made her blood curdle. Commandant Schmidt had informed Gaston that they were looking for a criminal and needed his help to bring this traitor to justice. He also notified her husband that she had been seen consorting with this man._

_Then the Commandant said the two words that made her heart stop, "Marcel Dubois"._

_Oh my God, she thought frantically, they are here for Marcel. I must find him and warn him. Then one more thought came into her head, Teresa, what do I do about her? I can't go in now; they're sure to arrest me._

_I must find Marcel; he will know what to do. She wasted no more time as she quickly ran from the house. She looked over her shoulder just once and saw the front door open. Marie dashed behind a large weeping willow tree to hide from the three men that were exiting her home. Marie had continued to observe them as they got into their car and drove off. When she was certain they had gone, she continued her trek back into town to find Marcel. _

_In the meantime Marcel had made his way Ophelia's cottage. It was a simple house with a modest flower garden and a peach orchard that surrounded it. Marcel walked upon the flagstone walkway that led all the way to the front door. Before he could bring up his knuckles to wrap on its wooden surface, the door slowly opened._

_There in the doorway stood a very beautiful woman. Her fine features had an almost feline-like quality. Her dark eyes were almond shaped with long feathery lashes. She had very full lips that had curled up into a slightly knowing smile, causing her high cheekbones to protrude a bit more. Her blue-black hair was done up in a very elaborate up-do as was the custom of her Asian ancestors. The white kimono she had been wearing gave her a delicate demure appearance, but Marcel knew that looks could be deceiving. This lotus flower was as deadly as she was beautiful. She was the seer's protector, her guardian. _

"_Hello, Sapphire, I must see Ophelia, is she here?" Marcel asked anxiously. _

"_She has been expecting you, won't you come in, Marcel?" was Sapphire's reply._

_She stepped aside to allow the large man to gain entry to the humble abode as she gave him a little curtsy. Sapphire then outstretched one of her arms, as the elongated bell shaped sleeve of her garment dangled, pointing the way to the seer's kitchen. As Marcel walked towards the kitchen, the smell of baked goods invaded his nostrils, making them flare just a bit. Whatever Ophelia had been baking sure smelled good. _

_Marcel's large hand parted the beaded curtains that hung at the entrance of the kitchen. He had to duck his head just bit to enter. The room was warm and inviting. It was humble and modest as was rest of the house, but it was a comforting space, just the same. Marcel stood still as he quietly waited for the occupant of the kitchen to acknowledge his presence. He noticed that she had busied herself with retrieving something from the oven._

_Without turning around, she finally addressed him, "Ah, Marcel I see you've come to me again for help. Always in trouble, aren't you son?"_

"_I'm afraid it's true, but this time I do not come on behalf of myself," he replied._

_The woman finally turned around after having placed the baking sheet on the counter in front of her. She smiled at Marcel with a grin that lit up her whole face. Although she was a woman of considerable age, one could tell that she had been a great beauty at one point in her life. Her dark eyes contained depth and wisdom. She, like Marcel was a person of color, although her skin was a few shades lighter than his. She possessed a pear-shaped figure that at one time had been a perfect hourglass. Her voice was endearing and kind with a slight Creole accent. It had been rumored that she was a transplant from the New World, a Voodoo priestess from New Orleans._

"_Yes, I know why you've come, it's about the woman and her child, isn't it?" she asked him, both of knowing full well the answer to that question._

"_Yes Ophelia, I am here to ask you to help me, help them."_

"_Poor Marcel, I'm afraid I cannot not tell you what to do, you must decide for yourselves. A choice must be made, a very difficult one, I might add. One of them must stay behind, but which one will be up to you."_

_Marcel shook his head in disbelief, "No, I cannot accept that, there must be another way!"_

_Ophelia sighed as she replied, "Marcel, the choice has already been made; now you must understand it."_

_Just then there was a timid knock at the door. The sounds of the front door being opened and Sapphire greeting a new arrival were also heard. Someone was walking towards the kitchen. Marcel withdrew one of his pistols from his shoulder holster; he wasn't taking any chances. He stood ready to blow the head off of the person that was getting ready to walk through the beaded curtain. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw who it was._

"_Marie!" he exclaimed, "What are you doing here?" he asked as he lowered his weapon._

_She was almost out of breath since she had run all the way from her house to the destination of their meeting place. Fear and adrenaline caused her to shake like a leaf as she ran into the safety of Marcel's waiting arms. She cried into his shoulder as he stroked her hair, giving her words of comfort. _

_When she had finally calmed down she revealed to him her reason for the abrupt visit. Marie had told him all about the SS officers being at her house and what they had told Gaston._

"_They know all about you, I just had to come to warn you! Teresa is trapped in that house. You must help me get her out, now, before her stepfather does something terrible to her!" she said as she looked at Marcel with pleading eyes._

_Before Marcel could utter another word, Ophelia addressed him, "Marcel, I want you to leave me with her, I need to speak to Marie alone."_

_Marcel glanced over to the soothsayer with a quizzical look on his face. He knew whatever was said to Marie was for her alone and he should not interfere. He gave Marie a reassuring hug and quickly left the kitchen._

_Ophelia turned her sights on the very nervous Marie, "Come my child, won't you sit down?'' _

_She offered her a chair at the small dining table. When both women were seated, Ophelia reached into the pocket of her apron and retrieved a cigarette and a wooden match, which she struck along the side of the table. As she lit her cigarette, she inhaled deeply and then let out a long stream of smoke._

"_I know that this is a nasty habit, but I just can't seem to break it," she stated looking at Marie through a hazy cloud of smoke. Ophelia was scrutinizing her, sizing her up. "I also know that you have had a difficult life up until now, things haven't been easy and they're not going to get any easier where you're going."_

_The clairvoyant continued, "Marie, I won't lie to you what Marcel has offered you is no paradise, I know, believe me. The one thing that I am sure of is his love for you. Hopefully, it will be enough to sustain you through the tough times ahead."_

_Marie felt a lump in her throat as she asked the older woman that sat in front of her, "What do you mean? I don't understand what you are trying to tell me."_

_Ophelia took another drag from her cigarette before she replied, "Marie, your daughter, Teresa cannot go with you, she is not ready. Her mind is still too fragile and she would most certainly die if you try to bring her out of the Matrix."_

_Marie felt faint; she could not accept what she was hearing. Not bring my child, she thought, this is madness, but there was more shattering news to be brought forth._

"_Marie, there's something else that you must know. You and Teresa are not mother and daughter in the true sense. She is a part you, that much is true but in the Real World humans beings are grown, not birthed by conventional methods. The machines extract the genetic code from prime human specimens and create an infinite amount of clones. _

_They are slightly imperfect copies of the original genetic donor. I'm sure you've heard the saying that everyone in the world has a double, someone that looks like them. Well, Teresa happens to be your doppelganger, but I guess the machines felt it was important that she be given to you to so that you could raise her as your own."_

_By this time Marie had been weeping openly, she was stunned and heartbroken. Ophelia got out of her chair and went over to Marie, putting her arm around her. Somehow that simple gesture was comforting; deep down Marie knew that what this old woman was saying was true, just as she had known that Marcel had been truthful._

"_There is one thing I will tell you. Your girl is destined for great things; I see a bright future for her. She will be a crucial member of the Resistance. As for you Marie, you will be the person that will point Marcel in the right direction to find the One, you will be his compass," Ophelia declared._

"_How will I know where to find this One? I wouldn't know where to look," Marie was exhausted and beyond exasperation._

_Ophelia shuffled over to the kitchen counter and removed a freshly baked cookie from the baking sheet. She came back to the table where Marie sat, offering it to her. "Go on, take it, you'll need to keep up your strength. When the time is right you will be able to recognize the One. Your heart will tell you, you'll see."_

_Then Ophelia called for Sapphire and Marcel. "There isn't much time, Sapphire I want you to accompany Marcel and Marie to Paris. The necessary perpetrations have been made for their departure." _

_Then she addressed Marcel," You will be traveling light, since Teresa cannot go with you. The situation has become too dangerous for all involved and with the SS looking for you it might be best if the child were to stay with me."_

_Ophelia heard Marie give a sigh of relief," Oh, merci Ophelia, merci, you don't know what this means to me."_

"_Once you are safely out of the Matrix, I will send Sapphire to get her and bring her to me. Now go, you're wasting time!"_

End Chapter Five - Next Chapter will be "Awakenings II"


	6. Awakenings II

The Wages of War

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix Trilogy or any of the characters. All original characters are mine, damn it!

_A/N_: This chapter picks up right where the last one left off. Marcel and Marie are in a race against time to leave the Matrix. The first part of this chapter will still be part of Marie's flashback of events in her past. Subsequently, she will meet up with her estranged daughter Teresa in the present, and assist with her being unplugged.

Chapter Six

Awakenings II

Marcel glanced over at Marie and noticed she was in a state of deep reflection. Out of concern for her, he tried to convey reassurance with a gentle squeeze of her hand, thus bringing her back to the present. Marie looked up into his eyes and saw love, acceptance and the strength she had come to rely on all of these years.

Marcel, who had been her love, her comrade in arms, and her partner in all things, was probably the only person that understood the emotional upheaval that she was going through. Although Marie felt great joy at the thought of finally being reunited with her daughter; she was not deluding herself. She knew that Teresa would not be pleased to see her. Nonetheless, Marie resolved herself to help her anyway that she could.

Marcel gently kissed Marie on her forehead as she sighed in contentment. She snuggled in closer, placing her head upon his shoulder. They were still about an hour away from their final destination. The warmth from Marcel's body was lulling her into a light sleep. Soon she found herself in the realm of dreams where realities collide and the past was waiting to claim her once again.

_Taking Ophelia at her word, Marcel and Marie quickly followed Sapphire out of the house. They ran towards the red painted barn also located on the seer's property. Sapphire lifted the heavy wooden latch and flung the heavy barn doors open with ease. Parked inside the wooden structure was a white 1934 Rolls Royce, the guardian's vehicle of choice. Just like its owner, despite its luxurious façade, this car was equipped with a few lethal extras. _

_The passenger side door panels concealed an arsenal of hand grenades, sub-machine guns, hand pistols and ammunition. Just below the white leather seats were two katana swords, which Sapphire could wield with the grace and precision that would rival any Samurai warrior._

"_Hurry, get in, we don't have a moment to lose," said Sapphire as she motioned to the couple to board the car._

_As soon as they were securely inside, the Rolls Royce sped out of the barn and towards the main road like a bat out of hell. Sapphire drove like a woman possessed, focused at the task at hand, to protect those left in her charge, by any means necessary._

_Marie felt her heart in throat the entire time. There would be no turning back from the choice she had made this day. She had to stay alive so that Teresa may also live. If Marie were to return home, she would be arrested, tried and executed for treason. _

_The stories that were filtering into France about the German re-education centers were horrifying. Death camps are what they are, Marie thought, if I were to stay I would be sent there for sure. The grim prospects of dying in a gas chamber or being slowly starved to death were terrifying. _

_Marie had overheard Gaston and his colleagues discussing in great detail how entire neighborhoods of Jewish families were being blocked off from the rest of society. Forced to live in squalor and impoverished conditions, people were dying off by the hundreds everyday from disease and malnourishment. _

_However they weren't dying fast enough for the Third Reich, so the remaining poor souls, men, women and children would be rounded up and taken to camps such as Dachau, and the infamous Auschwitz in cattle cars like animals. Upon their arrival, the weak and infirm would be separated from the general population and done away with quickly. As for the rest, they would be made to toil unmercifully for long hours and if they were lucky, they would be fed moldy bread and brackish water for their efforts. When they got too sick too work, their lives would be taken from them in the cruelest ways imaginable. _

_Some of the victims would be taken to the showers, asked to strip down to nothing. As they waited for water to be sprayed onto their shivering bodies, poisonous gas would be administered instead, asphyxiating all who were inside the bathing facility. The Nazi's had even installed secret cameras in the chamber, to record the gruesome demise of those innocents as they tried to find breathable air, scratching, and clawing at the walls, shrieking and screaming to their deaths. _

_Marie sometimes shed tears of anger and anguish. Her greatest desire was to be able to do anything to stop the madness that had engulfed the world. Now that she was a part of Marcel's life, she silently vowed to fight by his side and bring an end to this tyranny. _

_She would help this man, and the Resistance to topple Adolf Hitler, and destroy his army of murderers. Marie may have not yet believed in everything that Marcel had shared with her, but she knew one thing, she believed in him. That was enough for her._

_As for her daughter, she could only pray that Sapphire could rescue her from Gaston in time, before he could harm Teresa. Marie knew that if she were delivered to Ophelia, Teresa would be well cared for._

_The sun had already set as the car continued to make its way down the road, slicing into the night with illumination from its headlights. The occupants of the white automobile have driven without uttering a single word, when suddenly Sapphire broke the silence._

"_Marcel, it looks like there's a check point up ahead, what you want me to do?" she asked hesitantly. She had reduced the velocity of the car almost bringing it to a complete stop. _

"_How many soldiers are there?" inquired Marcel in return._

"_There are three Brown Shirts, I do not see any of the SS, but you never know," stated the guardian. _

"_Yes, you never do. Sapphire, proceed to the checkpoint. Drive normally; we do not want to draw attention to ourselves." Marcel commanded._

_Sapphire replied, "Understood."_

_The car made its way slowly towards the checkpoint. Marie's stomach was doing somersaults as she fidgeted nervously in her seat. Oh my God, she thought, we're going to get caught! The car made a complete halt in front of the wooden guard booth and the yellow and black barrier plank that was blocking their path._

_One of the soldiers had approached the driver side of the car, tapped on the glass and made a motion for Sapphire to roll down the window. She immediately complied. _

"_Papers," demanded the officer in a dour voice, "I need to see your travel papers, please."_

_Sapphire gave him a slow sultry smile as she said; "We are entertainers and are on our way to Paris to put on a show for our most honored guest, the Fuehrer. We left in such a hurry after we received word about performing for him, that we must have left those bothersome papers behind."_

_The Teutonic warrior's eyes narrowed into slits, as he looked her over suspiciously. In the meantime Marcel had slid a hand inside his coat, his fingers had wrapped around the handle of the pistol: readying himself to withdraw it at a moment's notice. Marie had seen the subtle movement closed her eyes and began to pray to her abandoned God._

_Now, a second soldier had walked up to the car, wanting to know what was taking so long for the first officer to give clearance to the passengers. Marie continued to recite every prayer she could remember from her childhood, the Lord's Prayer, the Hail Mary, the Apostle's Creed and even the Act of Contrition. _

"_Anton, what is the problem here?" asked the first soldier._

"_Nothing I can't handle Gunter, these people claim to be entertainers of some sort." Anton retorted, "You'll love this; they say they are going to perform for the Fuehrer! Can you believe that? A slant-eyed whore and a monkey are going to put on a show for the savior of the Aryan nation."_

_Gunter and Anton broke out in braying laughter, the thought of these inferior sub-humans getting anywhere near the German dictator was completely and utterly preposterous. Neither man had noticed that Marie was sitting alongside Marcel in the backseat. They were too engrossed in their mockery to detect that Sapphire had carefully reached below her seat and unsheathed one of her katana swords. Her slim fingers were tightly around the hilt of the handle, set to hack and dismember anyone at the first sign of trouble._

_Anton had manage to slightly compose himself as he addressed Marcel and Sapphire," All right you two get out of the car, we'll see how entertaining you'll be when you're taken to Gestapo Headquarters."_

_Sapphire sat perfectly still behind the wheel, the engine of the car had been running the entire time, she dared not remove the key from the ignition. Her eyes, which were reflected in the rearview mirror, looked straight into Marcel's, as she waited for sign from him to act._

_Frustrated with his prisoners' failure to comply with his demands, Anton withdrew his sidearm, a Luger 9mm and placed the muzzle of the gun to Sapphire's temple._

"_I'm only going to say this once, bitch, turn off the engine and get out of the car now."_

_Marcel knew he needed to take action quickly and with deadly force if they were going to make out of this stalemate alive._

_He uttered one word, "Now!"_

_Obeying his command, Sapphire swiftly ran the blade of the katana right through the car's door. The entire length of the sword had penetrated the door's panel, and then went through its metal exterior. The blade pierced the flesh, impaling the soldier on it as end of sharp edge protruded from the small of his back. A gurgling sound emanated from Anton's throat as he choked on a combination of blood and bile._

_Marcel pushed Marie down to the floor of the car and told her to remain there. In one fluid motion, he got out of the Rolls. He produced both of this pistols and opened fire on Gunter. His life was quickly extinguished by one of Marcel's bullets, right between his eyes. _

_Gunter's own sidearm had remained in its holster as his body hit the ground. Sapphire had removed her blade out of the other officer's lifeless form; he too fell into the dirt. _

_Sapphire quickly got out of the car, with her katana still in her hand. She sensed that they were not out of danger yet. As she stood back to back with Marcel, they both held on to their weapons ready to destroy anything that crossed their path. _

_Just then the forgotten third soldier seeing the fate that had befallen his friends had brandished his own firearm, a Pistolen-08. He started to walk unseen towards his targets; he was almost certain that he could to take them out easily from his vantage point just on the other side of the car._

_Marie hearing the sound of heavy boots crunching and crushing the dry underbrush near the vehicle suddenly got up from the car's floor to look out the rear window. What she witnessed next defied all reason. Right before her very eyes the soldier began to transform. A strange metamorphosis was taking place. As his body continued to contort and shift, Marie just stared open-mouthed in disbelief. The transformation was now complete, another form had emerged, haven taken the place of the Brown Shirt._

_There was something strangely familiar about this man, but Marie couldn't recall what it was right away. She had seen the pristine black colored military garb before. The man also wore the smart looking jackboots that were customary with all that wore this attire. Although it was nighttime, his eyes were obscured by dark tinted eyeglass. Only one elite group of men wore this uniform, Hitler's Special Forces, his secret police, the SS._

_Then Marie heard a voice say, "Herr Dubois. So I finally get to meet the great and elusive Marcel."_

_A wave of recognition washed through Marie as her heart beat wildly in her chest. It can't be she thought; it just can't be!_

_The SS officer slowly walked towards the rebels, appraising them, trying to discover their weaknesses before he would decide which method to deploy to strike them down._

_Sapphire and Marcel did not move a muscle; still they stood, back to back, guarding each other, weapons at the ready._

_The officer finally stopped right before Marcel who asked him defiantly, "And you are?"_

_The SS official simply replied, "Schmidt, Commandant Schmidt."_

_Marie's mind screamed, Oh my God!_

_Sapphire removed herself from her place behind Marcel, protectively placing her body directly in front of him. As she faced off with Schmidt, her weapon was openly displayed, wordlessly telling her opponent that she intended to make use of it if necessary. Her eyes were focused intently on her foe, silently challenging him into a duel. _

"_Marcel, take the car and go! I will handle this!" Sapphire commanded, then she addressed Schmidt, "You and I have met before, haven't we Blue Demon?"_

_Marcel obediently ran towards the waiting vehicle, placing himself behind the wheel. Shifting the transmission into gear, he drove away at the car's maximum velocity causing the rear tires to kick up a plume of sand and rocks behind it. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the battle that was about to ensue._

_Schmidt seemed unfazed by the sudden exodus of the rebels as he turned to reply to Sapphire, "Yes we have, Guardian, but as I recall you and I were fighting on the same side then."_

_Gripping the sword's handle with one hand, Sapphire raised it slightly above her head; her dark eyes were like two hard flint stones as she stared down her adversary. Her mouth displayed a slight smirk as she said, "That was long ago, besides it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind. As you know, I'm not one for small talk, let's just get on with it!" _

_Schmidt brought his hands up to the lapels of his uniform jacket as he tilted his head slightly, loudly cracking the bones of his neck. He then expertly struck a fighter's pose, ready to pummel the woman that dared to defy him with bone crushing blows._

_The man in black smiled as he responded, "As you wish, let's dance."_

_Sapphire thrust her well-sharpened katana towards Schmidt's broad chest, in an attempt to pierce his heart. He managed to bring his hands up quickly, clapping them onto the blade with such great force; it broke the sword in two. Not to be outdone, Sapphire cast what remained of her weapon aside then reached up into her hair and removed what appeared to be two pointy wooden chopsticks, as her elaborate coif spilled over her shoulders like liquid midnight. _

_She lunged towards her enemy, with a sharp instrument in each hand, desiring nothing more than to bring a swift end to his miserable existence. Sapphire began of series of kicks, punches and blows; trying to puncture the SS officer's exposed skin the process. _

_However, Schmidt was as skilled as Sapphire in the martial arts. He blocked her every move with great ease. He then landed a powerful roundhouse kick straight into her abdomen, sending the Asian woman flying right into the wooden guard shack. _

_The impact from her body splintered the rickety structure, reducing it to nothing more than a pile of useless lumber. Sapphire levitated out of the rubble, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, completely unscathed. The wind blew through her long hair as she hovered in mid-air, waiting for Schmidt to charge at her again like a raging rhino._

_The combatants both knew that there would be no victor that night. Their effort to defeat each other was an exercise in futility. As the clash between good and evil raged on, Sapphire hoped that she could distract Schmidt long enough to allow Marie and Marcel to exit the Matrix. _

_In the meanwhile, the white Rolls Royce had continued its perilous journey, getting closer with each passing second to its final destination, The City of Lights. Marie was finally beginning to stir, after having passed out in the backseat. The amalgamation of trepidation and trauma had been too much for her shattered psyche to process. She had seen things that defied all logical explanation. _

"_Marcel, where are we?" she asked._

"_We are almost there, just stay calm," he replied._

"_Marcel that man that was fighting with Sapphire, I know him; he was the one at the house talking with Gaston!"_

"_He is no man, Marie; he is a killing machine, and a very affective one at that."_

_Her eyes were wide with curiosity as she asked him one final question, "Is he part of this Machine World you spoke of?"_

_Marcel replied, "Yes, I'm afraid he is. He is what is known as a sentient being, a program designed for a single purpose, to control those that reside within the confines of the Matrix and destroy all those that rebel against it." _

_Finally, Marcel's eyes detected the familiar skyline of the Parisian metropolis. The grand edifice that was the Eiffel Tower could be seen in the distance. Marcel brought the car to a complete stop next to an embankment of the River Seine. He reached into the breast pocket inside his coat and retrieved a strange device. Marie watched with fascination as Marcel index finger pressed the numbered buttons that appeared on the face of the apparatus. He then put the contraption to his ear and spoke into it._

"_Operator," he said to whoever was on the other end, "We've just arrived, and we need to rendezvous with the Facilitator post haste."_

_Marie had deduced the small gadget was a communicator of some sort, Marcel's connection to his friends in the Real World. She remained silent as Marcel received instructions. After he ended his communiqué, Marcel pressed a small red button that turned off the strange looking appliance. _

_He turned around in his seat to face Marie, "We must continue on foot, the Facilitator is not too far from here. They exited the car, and quickly made their way to the Champ De Elysees. Marcel seemed a bit tense; he did not like crowds. These people did not seem overjoyed to see a bi-racial couple in their midst. The nasty slurs had not been overlooked. _

_He bent down and whispered in her ear, "We need to get rid of this mob, but I can't afford another confrontation. We can create a diversion that will make these people scatter. Are you game?"_

_Marie nodded her head as she gave her consent to be a part of his plan. Without another word, Marcel fervently enveloped her in his arms, and kissed her passionately. _

_When the kiss had ended and the crowd had gone, Marcel noticed that Marie's mood had shifted from extreme happiness to utter despair. He could only imagine what she must be feeling. He could not dismiss Marie's feelings for Teresa. The Machines may have complete control of humanity, but they do not govern in matters of the heart. What she felt for her daughter was as genuine as the love that Marcel felt for her._

_He placed a protective arm about her shoulders as they made their way on foot to the Facilitator's dwelling. Marcel and Marie stopped in front of what appeared to be an abandoned meat packing plant. Marcel stepped forward to bring his knuckles up to knock three times on the heavy metal door. _

"_Who is it?" a man's booming voice inquired. _

"_It is Marcel Dubois, please let us in."_

_The metal door slid open revealing the occupant of the derelict building, a large and lumbering man with a crooked nose and a set of rotting teeth. His long stringy hair was disheveled, as were his clothes. Marie felt sudden revulsion at the first sight of him. His long bony finger pointed the way into the dark unknown of his domain. There was an offending odor of rotting meat that permeated throughout the structure even though plant had not been in use for many years._

_Marcel made the introductions, "Marie, this is the Facilitator; he is here to assist me in getting you out of the Matrix, setting you free."_

_Marie gripped the sleeve of Marcel's coat as if it were a life preserver as they crossed the threshold. The sound of the door being shut closed and locked down was heard. The man then silently led the way into one of the back rooms of the defunct plant. She squinted her eyes as they were trying to adjust to the poor lighting. As Marie entered the chamber, she gasped out loud at the sight of the strange equipment contained within. _

_There were instruments and machinery that appeared to be rusted with age. Wires and cables ran along the walls. There were also what looked to be television monitors of some kind. The images displayed on them were a series of unrecognizable green colored symbols and numbers scrolling down against a black background. There was also a telephone that had been modified to connect directly into the bizarre equipment. _

_Marcel drew near her, taking his hand and rubbing it gently against her cheek. _

"_Do not be afraid, my love, I am here to guide you every step of the way," he said in an attempt to set her mind at ease. He then reached into his pocket and brought forth a small silver case. Marcel opened it, revealing two capsules, a red pill and a blue pill._

_Marcel offered Marie one last chance to back out, "As much as I want you with me, the decision must be yours alone. You must make the choice. If you choose the red pill, you will sever your ties to this world permanently. There would be no going back._

_If you choose the blue pill you will remain here in the Matrix with no memory of what happened today. Your life would continue as if none of this had ever happened." _

_Marie didn't need any coaxing; she knew what she wanted. The thought of leaving her daughter was gut wrenching, but Ophelia had promised to look out for Teresa until she was strong enough to be removed from the Matrix. She had nothing else that was keeping her in this so-called reality. If taking the red pill meant never having to see Gaston again and finally having a chance at some real happiness at Marcel's side, so be it._

_Her slender hand reached into the case and plucked up the red capsule, placing it into her mouth. The Facilitator handed her a glass of water to help her swallow it down. Marcel then led her by the hand and sat her down in one of the chairs. _

_Both men worked quickly as they strapped Marie into the chair. Marcel had placed what looked to be electrodes across her forehead, down her arms, chest and back. She was so nervous she was trembling with fear and uncertainty. _

_Once again, Marcel pulled out his communication device and made the connection to the other side._

"_Operator, we are ready to proceed," he announced._

_The Facilitator began to flip switches and turn knobs. He then turned to Marcel and said, "I believe we have locked onto to her signal, sir."_

"_On my mark hit the final switch," he commanded. Marcel then spoke into the communicator and asked, "Are you ready to extract her?"_

_The voice on the other side said, "Yes."_

_Marcel's eyes locked onto the Facilitator's and yelled, "Now, do it now!" _

_As the final switch was thrown, Marie felt as if every nerve ending in her body was tingling. Did her eyes deceive her, or was the room shifting, or warping somehow? The Facilitator and Marcel appeared distorted and elongated, like images in a funhouse mirror. _

_Her rapid heartbeat was drowning out all other sounds. Her body started to convulse, as a drowning sensation possessed her entire being. She was desperately gasping for air. Then came the blackness, the void. _

Marie's azure eyes flew open, she was panting uncontrollably Her body was still trembling violently. Marcel's kind face was before registering concern. He gently pulled her into his arms, as brought up his hand to stroke her luxurious ebony locks.

"It's all right my love, hush now, it was just a dream. You're safe now," he said soothingly.

Slowly Marie regained a semblance of tranquility. Her hand reached up to touch Marcel's face in a gesture of love and gratitude. What would I do without him, she thought to herself.

Just then, the man that had been seated in the front passenger side of the vehicle announced that they had finally arrived at their destination. The car had parked itself in front of tiny farmhouse. The once yellow exterior of the shelter was chipped and faded. Planks of wood had replaced some of the roof's shingles in a feeble attempt to keep out the rain. The two front windows of the house looked like a pair of sad eyes that had seen too much of the pain of this world.

All of the passengers disembarked from the black automobile then walked across the small courtyard towards the front door. Marcel, who had led the way to the front entrance to the house, raised his hand and knocked on the door.

"Teresa," he called out, "It its I, Marcel. I am here as promised.

The door creaked open, as pair of cerulean eyes peeped out to get look at the oddly clad quartet.

The door opened just a little bit more to reveal the figure of a young woman. The two men that had accompanied Marie and Marcel were astonished at the striking resemblance this girl bore to Marie. She stepped forward then walked over to Marie.

She gave her a wry smile, and then said, "Hello Mother."

Elation took over as Marie threw her arms around her estranged daughter, clutching her tightly to her bosom. Teresa did not return the embrace. She was stiff as board, cold and motionless. Her alabaster face showed no emotion of any kind. Her mother on the other hand shed tears of joy.

Marie stepped back a bit to get a better look at her child, marveling at how much she had grown and changed.

"Teresa, look at you, you are beautiful!" she cried, then she addressed Marcel," She's cut her hair, but somehow it suits her."

Teresa couldn't stand her mother's fawning any longer. She twisted her face in disgust and spat out at her, "How would you know what suits me, Mother, you haven't been around to find out!"

Marie winced as if she had been struck with a blow. Her daughter continued with her verbal assault, "Do you know why I cut my hair? It was because I didn't have enough money to eat! I've been living in the streets all this time, did you know that Mother?" Marie began to shrink away from Teresa as she kept on with her tirade. Her daughter advanced at her, backing her up against Marcel's chest.

"Did you know that Gaston raped me? Not just once but dozens of times after you left! He said I was nothing but a whore! Well guess what, Mother? I became the very thing he said I was! That's right, I sold myself to stay alive, to survive in this pathetic existence! It's your entire fault. You did this to me and I hate you! Do you hear me? I HATE YOU!"

The enraged ranting of her daughter frightened Marie; she wanted to make her stop, to calm her down. She acted on instinct as she reached up and soundly slapped her face.

Marcel, shocked by what Marie had just done, grabbed her wrist before she could hit her daughter again. Marie realizing her loss of self-control suddenly felt ashamed. How could I strike my own child? She thought, recriminating herself. How could I harm my baby?

Hot, fresh tears coursed down her face. Marie tried to reach out to Teresa, but the girl recoiled from her touch with hate and distrust. It was Marcel who finally brought some order to this reunion gone awry.

"Marie, my love, you must get a hold of yourself. We all need to keep a cool head. Time as always is against us. We need to get Teresa to the Facilitator as soon as possible if we are going to get her out of the Matrix with her life!"

Marie had hung her head in shame, now was not the time to try to reason with her daughter. She knew she had much to atone for. She stole a glance at Teresa who was staring back at her with pure unadulterated abhorrence. Marcel walked over to Teresa and put one of his arms upon her shoulders, and then he led her to the car. Marie and the two men followed them in a silent procession back to the waiting automobile.

The driver and his companion took their original places in the front seat. Marcel had allowed Teresa to get into the backseat first then he got in after her, as Marie followed him. The car doors slammed closed, the engine was started, and then the motor vehicle started its journey back to Paris.

Teresa remained silent during the entire trip, but her mind was already plotting her revenge. Once she got into the Real World she would stop at nothing to make Marcel Dubois hers, and there would be nothing her mother could do about it.

End Chapter Six


	7. Sleeping With the Enemy

The Wages of War

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix Trilogy. The Brothers W. can also keep Neo, Trinity and the rest. I only want Him…Smith.

_A/N_: Finally, the moment that all you Agent Smith fans have been waiting for, and you know who you are. A chapter about our favorite nemesis, even if he is an evil Nazi bastard, he's still sexy as hell!

Thank you for all of your kind reviews. It really means a lot that you like my little tale. Well enough chitchat, on with the story!

Chapter Seven

Sleeping With the Enemy

All of Berlin was abuzz with excitement. The Fuehrer had returned from Paris as a conquering hero, and greeted by the hordes of enamored admirers in the streets of his beloved Fatherland. Rose petals were thrown at his feet, little babies were held up to him by their mothers, so that he could kiss their cherub-like cheeks. Millions of German citizens chanted his name in exaltation, "Heil Hitler, Heil Hitler."

Adolf Hitler fancied himself to be like the great conquers of old, Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun and the Roman Caesars. I will of course surpass them all, he thought. He planned not only to conquer the world, but he would not let it slip from his ironclad grasp like those foolish buffoons from the past. The Romans had become too decadent and depraved thus their once powerful empire had crumbled. Attila was betrayed and destroyed by a woman. Hitler would not allow that to happen since he loved no one but himself and his precious Reich. As for Alexander, he had let his guard down and put his trust in the wrong people. Hitler knew the first rule of power: trust no one.

Being a true master of manipulation, he would pit his ministers and closest advisors against each other like rabid dogs. They would be so busy skirmishing amongst themselves; there would be no danger of them ever turning on him. Always keep them guessing, he thought sardonically.

However there was one man that stood head and shoulders above the rest the bumbling group of thugs. Someone he begrudgingly had come to respect, even admire. He was ruthless, bloodthirsty and had the highest rate of success in capturing, rounding up and exterminating the filth that was plaguing his country.

The mere mention of this man's name struck fear in the hearts of his enemies and colleagues alike. To some he was known as the Blue Demon, he had earned that moniker because of the deep cobalt color of his eyes and the evil that lurked in his heart. To all others he was simply known as Commandant Schmidt.

Hitler had wanted to celebrate his successful tour of Paris by throwing a lavish ball at his palatial Chancellor's Hall. He had the new estate built right after he had named himself the Fuehrer of all of Germany. No expense had been spared. He had filled his chancellery with the finest furnishings, and the rarest pieces of art. It was the ultimate monument to his glorious sovereignty, and yet due to his severe eccentricities, he had never stepped foot in it until the night of the ball.

The German despot had been so confident of his victory over the French, invitations to the gala had been sent out a month earlier. For all their pomp and circumstance, Hitler thought to himself, the French defense forces proved to be nothing more than cowards. Hitler's troops had met no resistance when their tanks rolled into Paris. It was somewhat disappointing; he had been so looking forward to demonstrating to those frog-leg eating cretins the full might of the German army.

Oh, well at least the city's mayor, Marcus Mero and his exquisite wife Penelope were amiable hosts. They made his stay in Paris very pleasant, especially Madame Mero. She was for lack of a better word, very 'accommodating'. Hitler's nether regions stirred with excitement as the memory of having that tigress moaning with pleasure underneath him replayed in his head. Her husband didn't seem to pay her any mind, so when Hitler saw his opportunity, he took it.

He knew that Marcus was a philandering husband who had neglected his wife's needs. One night when he was certain that Mero was occupied elsewhere with one of his many mistresses, Hitler seized the moment to seduce the lady of the house. Penelope didn't bat an eye when the Fuehrer had first visited her in her private rooms. She had been wearing nothing but a filmy black nightgown that left nothing to the imagination. Her dark hair ran down the length of her back making her appear wanton and alluring. Her figure was shapely and inviting. She was designed for pleasure, and if Mero didn't take full advantage of the delights this goddess had to offer, then he was a fool.

Penelope had shown her appreciation for the dictator's attentions, by taking him into new realms of bliss. Her hands had roved over every inch of his body, making him feel like he was the most desired man on the face of the earth. Her hungry mouth had sought his out, as her tongue massaged his, maddening him with desire. Not even his consort, Eva Braun could bring him to ecstasy the way that this woman could. He would shout out her name, "Penelope, Penelope," as he would reach his shattering climax.

As for Madame Mero, she could not contain her lust for this man. She had been drawn to his charismatic power like moth to the flame. He may not have been the most handsome of men, but that did not matter to her. Hitler seemed to have magic hands as he caressed her naked and willing flesh. He had been able to gratify her like no man had ever done before; not even her husband. She had dug her long red polished fingernails into his back as she too had reached her orgasmic peak.

Their encounters had become more and more frequent with each passing day as Hitler had become more brazen in his pursuit of Penelope. Although Mero had seemed oblivious to their growing passion, it had not escaped the ever-watchful eyes of his bodyguards, the Albino Twins, Christian and Athos. They planned to use this dirty little secret to blackmail their mistress. They were quite cross with her for not sharing their bed anymore.

When Hitler's visit finally came to end, he had extended an invitation to the Parisian mayor and his wife to visit him and Eva at his estate in Berlin. The couple readily accepted his hospitality. The dictator and the First Lady of Paris had shared heated glances before Hitler's motorcade pulled away from the mayoral manor. The Fuehrer had smiled at the thought of having Penelope in his arms again, and just maybe if Eva behaved herself, she could join them.

* * *

The night air was charged with excitement as a cavalcade of cars started to arrive in front of the Chancellor's Hall. The façade of the building had been adorned with two elongated Nazi flags that hung on either side of the main entrance. Flood lamps were shining brightly sending their beams of light into the night sky. As the guests started to disembark from their expensive automobiles, throngs of newspaper photographers speedily approached them, asking them to pose for pictures that would appear in the society page the next morning.

The men and women were dressed in all of their finery, trying to outdo one another in an attempt to impress the leader of the Fatherland. These people were the crème de la crème of German society. They were bankers, businessmen, politicians, and military leaders. All who came had been flattered by the invitation from the Fuehrer and were curious to meet his guests of honor, the Mayor and First Lady of Paris.

As the guests filed into the grand ballroom, their names would be announced to all who were present, and then they would be led to the greeting line where Hitler, his consort Eva Braun and their visitors from France would be waiting to meet them.

Among the many people that night to enter the ballroom, was a strikingly beautiful young woman. She had turned the heads of all who had seen her as she made her way unaccompanied to meet the Fuehrer. Her long golden hair was done up into a French Twist, that accentuated her lovely long neck. Her eyes were a bluish gray and her skin was like fine porcelain. The shade of cherry red lipstick on her pretty pouting lips perfectly matched the crimson of her figure hugging strapless ball gown. Her neck and ears were adorned with ruby and diamond jewels. She was a vision to behold and in Hitler's eyes the embodiment of Aryan femininity.

Her name was loudly announced to all within earshot, "Fraulein Lydia Rhinehart."

The woman in red was finally in front of the greeting line. She extended her hand to Adolf Hitler who took it in earnest bringing it up to his lips. This Teutonic beauty, much to the utter dislike of both Eva and Penelope, had captivated him. Both women had greeted the girl coldly and dismissed her immediately. She then made the acquaintance of the French mayor, Marcus Mero.

With all the charm that he could muster, he too kissed her hand and said, "Mademoiselle I am enchanted. Perhaps we could share a dance later?"

"Perhaps, that is if your lovely wife doesn't object," she replied sweetly. Then she thought to herself, pigs would fly before I let you put another hand on me you pompous ass.

Lydia Rhinehart had come to the ball for an entirely different purpose. She wasn't here to rub elbows with the rich and famous, or to be swept off her feet by some pretentious French peacock. No, she was here to seek someone out. Someone that could help her locate her brother Karl who had disappeared without a trace sometime ago. Lydia needed to find this man desperately. He had been her brother's commanding officer in the German Special Forces. If anyone knew Karl's whereabouts, it would be him.

She had continued to walk around the expansive ballroom; sapphire eyes scanned its every corner, looking for Commandant Schmidt. Then suddenly she saw a small group of SS officers having a deep discussion near the entrance to west balcony. At the group's center stood her reason for attending this farce, her search was over. Lydia smoothed out her dress, and then took out a small mirror that had been tucked away in her petite clutch purse. She quickly checked her refection, satisfied with what she saw; she put the looking glass back in her purse. She straightened out her posture and began to glide across the ballroom floor toward the officers.

Schmidt having sensed the presence of someone's approach looked up to see who it was. What he saw was sheer poetry in motion. Although he was not human, he still knew how to appreciate perfection when he saw it. He had stopped speaking in mid sentence as this fiery looking woman had locked her eyes with his. He watched her every graceful move, as she got closer to where he stood. It was as if time had stood still in the Matrix. Everyone around them had ceased to function. Had the Mainframe altered something, he wondered.

Program and human alike were standing around like store mannequins, motionless. Not a sound was heard, save her advancing footsteps. Even the music that was being played by the Berlin Philharmonic in the rose garden had stopped. She got closer and closer until finally the gap had been closed between them. Schmidt was still mesmerized, bewitched by her splendor. He had asked himself, was she human? She couldn't be, only the Source could create a creature such as her.

Schmidt scanned her body with his azure eyes, as his CPU processed all of the data. Her body temperature, breathing patterns, and the dilation of her pupils all told him what he wanted to know, the inevitable answer to his question: she was only human. His attitude towards most humans had been total repugnance, but there was one exception to this rule and she was now standing in front him.

When this vision of loveliness finally spoke to him, the world suddenly came back to life. The music resumed, couples swirled around the dance floor as the waltz that was being played had picked up its tempo. Conversations had recommenced where they had been left off, as if nothing had happened.

"Hello, Commandant Schmidt, I am Lydia Rhinehart," she had extended her hand as she introduced herself to the ruggedly handsome officer. He took her hand gently in his, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

His cobalt eyes registered recognition, how could he have not seen it before? The family resemblance between her and her brother was uncanny.

"Ah yes, you must be Karl Rhinehart's sister," he responded in kind.

"Yes, I am. It is because of my brother that I am here to see you. I need your help in finding him. The last letter I received from Karl was over six months ago when he was deployed to Dachau under your command. Since he was sent to Munich, no one has seen or heard from him."

Schmidt stared at this woman hungrily; he wasn't even listening to what she had to say as he watched her delectable mouth move as she spoke. Usually he couldn't stand the stench of the average human, the smells coming off of those foul creatures was repulsive, but Lydia smelled as if she had bathed in jasmine scented water. Her bouquet was intoxicating. Lustful thoughts began to fill his mind. He desired nothing more than to take this woman and have his way with her, right here and right now.

His two associates, Lt. Braun and Captain Johansen, had accompanied the commandant to the gala. They too were enthralled by Lydia's presence. Braun was the brother of the Fuehrer's lover, Eva Braun. It was because of his sister's influence that he had moved quickly up the ladder of success. Johansen on the other hand had served under Schmidt for a long time and was his most trusted ally. Schmidt could rely on Johansen to carry out even the most difficult of tasks, no questions asked.

Corporal Karl Rhinehart, had also served on the same elite team, and although he was a competent officer, his sympathy for the undesirables had become increasingly worrisome. After he had been sent to the concentration camp to assist with the extermination of the latest batch of gypsies, Jews and traitors, he had disobeyed a direct order from Johansen to take a group of young Jewish children and have them shot.

"_Rhinehart, did you not hear me? Kill them now!" Johansen had commanded._

_The young blonde officer looked over to his superior, as he shook his head, "I can't do this, I won't! I will not be a party to murder; these are children for God's sake! " He had tossed away his gun into the mud. The children had been huddled near the barbed wire fence and were shivering because of the violent wind and rain._

_Captain Johansen_ _had removed his own weapon from_ _the gun holster he wore on his hip. He cocked the gun, brought it up and pointed it straight at Karl._

"_I am only going to issue this order one more time, Corporal, pick up your weapon and fire at will!"_

"_No, I will not! You are a monster, how can you even consider yourself to be part of the human race?" Karl asked desperately._

_Johansen gave him a smirk as he replied, "That is because I am not. You have failed to comply with a direct order and have chosen your fate, prepare to die, human." _

_A single shot was fired from the captain's Luger 9mm. The children had screamed in horror as they watched the bullet penetrate Karl's forehead, killing him instantly. Then Johansen turned on the whimpering children, as they too were eradicated from existence._

_Schmidt had sauntered up behind his captain and placed a hand on his shoulder as he appraised his handiwork. The officers' expressions were blank, devoid of any emotion as the rain continued to come down upon them. The sight of the dead children did nothing to sway them to feel pity, grief or remorse. They had been simply been filthy little viruses that needed to be obliterated, nothing more._

_When the Commandant could no longer stand the sight of their remains, he had ordered Lt. Braun to take the bodies of Karl Rhinehart and the children and dispose of them in the crematorium. There would be nothing left of them but ashes. _

The sound of Lydia's melodic voice had wrenched Schmidt back to the present.

"Commandant, will you help me?" she asked.

Schmidt knew that he couldn't possibly help this woman, now that her brother was dead. He could have cared less about helping any human for that matter, but this one was special. She had stirred up emotions in him that had been dormant for a long time. The sensations of human male arousal were starting to course through his entire being. He wanted desperately to get her alone and devour her. His hands ached to touch her creamy skin, his mouth and tongue wanted to kiss and explore every crevice of her body.

The Commandant knew that his desire for this human girl was wrong; he was designed to control and kill the inhabitants of this menagerie, this zoo, not to copulate with one of them. However, it that were true, why did the Mainframe program his CPU with emotions, such as anger, greed, envy and of course lust? His hard drive had been infused with almost all of what the humans considered to be the Seven Deadly Sins. His hatred and anger had given him an advantage in carrying out his mission for the Source. However, Schmidt had no need for sexual desire; he didn't even want to touch a human for fear of becoming infected by their stench.

Now he was being overwhelmed by hunger, a longing to have this girl. He needed to possess her completely, to make Lydia his. The fact that most of the men in the room including Hitler had also been spellbound by her presence had not escaped him. A smirk had played on his lips at the thought of him being the envy of every influential man in the Reich if he could manage to seduce Lydia. She was the Nazi's ideal in a mate, blond, blue eyed, the perfect specimen to breed with to bring forth an army of superior beings.

Feigning interest in her plight, he looked at Lydia and said, "Don't worry about Karl, my dear. I'm sure he is fine. Let me assure you that he is serving his country, however the nature of his mission is top secret. He received his orders straight from Berlin and not even I am at liberty to discuss them."

Lydia's eyes narrowed as she looked at Schmidt. There was something about this man that was not quite right, but she just could not figure out what it was. He was very dashing though, in his formal SS uniform. There was also something about his eyes that intrigued her. She found that his gaze contained both fire and ice, and his highly arched eyebrows gave him the appearance of a mischievous imp.

She was fighting the urge to stare longingly at this man; there was serious business to attend to. Lydia couldn't let her sudden attraction to Schmidt ruin her chances on finding where Karl was. It had been quite an undertaking to even get an invitation to this event. Although she was now penniless, thanks to her late father's poor investments; her family name still meant something to prominent people in this city.

Lydia had contacted some of her father's old business associates to get her name on the guest list, but due to her financial situation she had to borrow the red gown she was wearing from the dress shop that now employed her. The jewels were another matter; they had been the only inheritance that she had received after her mother died last year. It was around that same time that Karl had decided to enroll in the officer's academy. He had been told that SS officer's in particular earned a very good salary.

Being the kind soul that he was, he had promised his little sister that he would send all of his wages to her so that she didn't have to work in the dress shop. He had been true to his word. Every month he would send his pay packet along with a nice long letter letting her know about his exploits and that he was all right. Then six months ago the letters stopped coming.

At first Lydia thought that he had become so busy with his work that he had just forgotten, but when three months had gone by with no word from him, she began to make inquiries at the academy. When they told her they did not know anything about Karl, she contacted the attendant at Dachau that had informed her that she needed to speak to his commanding officer, Commandant Schmidt. Lydia had left dozens of messages for Schmidt, none were responded to. She then began a letter writing campaign, but all of her letters were unanswered. She knew then there was only one option left; she needed to meet with this elusive commandant personally. When word of the Fuehrer's gala had spread, she knew this to be her golden opportunity to finally meet up with Schmidt and get her answers.

Lydia's determination returned to her as she haughtily replied, "Surely someone with your contacts and influence can get word to him that his sister is concerned for his well-being. You need not tell me his location, but I just need to hear from him, to know that he is all right."

Schmidt knew that he needed to compile a response that would be convincing. He decided that he would bait her with false information, but not be too forthcoming, so that she would be forced to continue to see him. He may even go as far as forging some correspondence to give the appearance that her now deceased sibling was still alive so that she would be grateful and his debt.

"You have my word as an officer, Fraulein, I will get word to your brother, "he stated with a brilliant smile.

Relieved, Lydia returned the smile and voiced her gratitude," Thank you, you don't know what this means to me. How could I ever repay you?"

Schmidt's eyes roamed over her voluptuous figure, knowing full well the price that she would pay for his bogus assistance. He held out his elbow to her and said, "For now, why don't you honor me with a dance?"

Lydia happily placed her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her to the hardwood dance floor. When they had taken their positions on the ballroom floor, Schmidt firmly placed his right arm around her waist, while taking her hand in his left one. Then the orchestra began to play the Blue Danube, as Schmidt led his partner in a graceful waltz. Lydia was impressed, for he was an excellent dancer. Their feet had kept perfect time with the music as they twirled around and around the ballroom. All of the guests that had witnessed their dance thought that they made a handsome couple.

As for Lydia, she was a giddy as a schoolgirl. She was truly enjoying herself; here she was dancing with one of the most handsome of Hitler's guard. Not bad for a little shop girl, she told herself. Maybe if she played her cards right, she might be able to land herself a husband, then her financial woes would be over. Wouldn't Karl be proud, she thought, I would be an officer's wife. As the music came to a stop, she was dizzy with exhilaration; she didn't want this night to end. What had started out to be a dire task had become something very promising.

Schmidt had placed a possessive hand on the small of her back as he led her away from the ballroom. He wanted to be alone with his prize, his trophy and make her submit to his will. His eyes spied an ice bucket that contained a bottle of champagne. With gallant flourish he grabbed the bottle and two crystal wine flutes.

With a devilish glint in his eye he looked over to Lydia and said, "I thought that you might like some refreshment. How about if we go somewhere a little more private so that we can continue our discussion about Karl?"

Lydia nodded as she responded, "Thank you, I am a bit parched."

"This way then; follow me," he said in a slow drawling tone. It was almost hypnotic. Lydia followed the tall officer as they made their way down one of the many corridors of the chancellery. Finally they stopped in front of a pair of enormous mahogany doors. The images of ferocious lions had been carved into the wooden surface. Schmidt's hand shot out, placing it on one of the doorknobs. Giving it a turn, he pushed the door open.

"Ladies first," Schmidt said as he glanced over to his beautiful captive.

Silently Lydia entered the lavish room; Schmidt had deliberately turned sideways so that the entrance was narrowed a bit, thus forcing her to brush her bosom against his broad chest. As her torso made contact with his, Lydia felt her nipples harden. Judging from the lecherous look on Schmidt's face, it was evident that he had felt them too. When she had completely crossed the threshold, Lydia stood with her back to Schmidt, she dared not turn around. Her heart began to beat furiously as she heard the sound of the door close and lock behind her. Then there was the sound of Schmidt placing the champagne bottle and the two wine glasses down upon the marble topped table that she had seen was near the door. Then she heard his approaching footsteps. He was getting closer and closer. Still, she did not move.

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she felt his hot breath on her skin. Schmidt's arms encircled her waist. Lydia could feel his entire being pressing into hers. His long, well-manicured fingers had slid up her ribcage, roaming up her slender torso as they found their way to the mounds of her breasts, gently cupping them in his hands. His lips had descended on the curve of an exposed milky white shoulder. His mouth kissed her skin as he left a wet hot trail that started at her shoulders then up to her vulnerable neck. Lydia had stopped breathing as she felt her body trembling with fear and anticipation. She was certainly attracted to Schmidt but was worried that if she gave into his lust he would not want to see her anymore.

Sensing her apprehension, Schmidt turned her around to face him. He placed his index finger under her chin and tilted her head up so that he could look into her eyes. What he saw in her sapphire orbs was trepidation and uncertainty, but there was also something else, desire. He smiled at her a bit as he tried to reassure her of his intentions.

'Don't be afraid, _liebchein; _I will not harm you. I only want to make you feel good. You want the same thing, do you not?" his eyes were beseeching hers.

Lydia was still afraid and told him so, "I'm worried that you will think that I am a tramp or a whore if I give in to you tonight. I don't want you thinking badly of me."

Schmidt was loosing his patience with her; he wanted her now. He didn't know how much longer he could hold out. He knew he had to placate her somehow so that he could ravage her. So what did he do? He lied right through his teeth.

"I would never dream of using you. Since the moment I caught you in my sights, I thought you were special, different. I just couldn't let you get away."

Lydia was overcome by his flattering words. She too felt that he was extraordinary; he was like no man she had ever encountered. She wanted him in the worst way. Throwing caution to the wind, she brought her arms up and wrapped them around his neck. Schmidt in turn placed his hands on her back crushing her body against his. His eager mouth fell upon hers as his hands reached up to remove the hairpin that was holding her hair up. Her golden locks tumbled onto her shoulders. Schmidt stopped kissing her briefly so that his eyes could marvel in her magnificence. Her brilliant luxurious mane gave her a wild untamed look, which just set his entire being aflame.

Schmidt brought his hungry lips down on Lydia's once more, devouring her mouth. His teeth had caught her lower lip as he tugged on it gently. Lydia moaned at the sensation as she opened her mouth to allow his tongue to enter. He engaged her tongue in a sensuous dance as he began to unfasten the buttons that ran down the back of her gown. Lydia desperately wanted to feel him so she reached out her hand and placed in front of his trousers. She gasped out loud as she felt his rather large erection trying to escape the confines of his pants. She quickly unzipped the fly of his trousers and slipped her hand inside. A deep groan escaped Schmidt's lips as he began to feel the ministrations from Lydia's hand stroking his engorged member.

Finally her dress was completely unfastened. Schmidt broke their kiss so that he might allow Lydia to step out of it. There she stood before him, wearing only a pair of red garters that held up her sheer stockings and a lacy pair of red panties. Her full heavy breasts were completely exposed. The sight of her near naked form was almost too much for Schmidt to bear. He reach down and cupped one of her breasts in his hand as he lowered his head to take the hardened nipple into his mouth. He began to suckle her hard. Lydia inhaled sharply as she was rendered speechless; she had become a creature of feeling only as the wonderful sensation of having this man's mouth on her sensitive nub was driving her insane.

Lydia moaned as she cradled his head in her arms, running her fingers through his auburn colored hair. Schmidt then turned his attention to her other nipple, his teeth grazing the tip of it before taking it fully into his mouth. Lydia arched her back as Schmidt continued to suck on her breast, sending waves of electric heat that pooled between her legs. He then started to kiss the valley between her breasts, then her neck, and then finally his lips were on hers again. His hands had found their way to her firm buttocks. He roughly scooped her up so that her pelvic area would make full contact with his. Schmidt started to grind his hips into hers, telling her without words that he needed to be inside her now, he couldn't wait another second.

Lydia broke their deep kiss, and asked, "Where do you want to do it? There's doesn't seem to be a bed or a couch of any kind in this room, is there."

Schmidt smiled at her slyly as he replied, "Well there's the Fuehrer's desk. I don't think that he would mind, he's never been in here."

Lydia's eyes widened as the realization of where they were hit her. This was the Chancellor's private office. She couldn't possibly have sex with Schmidt here. What if they get caught? The repercussions would be dreadful, not to mention embarrassing.

Schmidt didn't want to wait anymore, the hell with her doubts, he was going to have her whether she objected or not. He took his hands and placed them firmly on her hips, twirling her around so that her back was to him. He then started to push her towards a large cherry wood desk that was at the center of the room. With one hand still tightly on her hip, he took the other one to swipe at the contents of the desk, removing them completely. Papers went flying through the air as pencils and pens hit the floor. Schmidt then bent Lydia over the edge of the desk and his hands worked furiously to remove her lacy undergarment. In his haste, he ripped her panties off, leaving her backside completely and vulnerably exposed to him. He then reached his hand inside his pants and brought forth his rampant penis. Lydia had been struggling to break free from his grip. She didn't want her first time with Schmidt to be this way; she wanted to see his eyes, his face as he made love to her.

Then without warning, Schmidt roughly penetrated her in one powerful thrust, causing her to cry out. He then began to slam into her violently, as one of his hands reach around in front of her so that he could stimulate her as well. As he continued to pump into her, his fingers worked frantically on her clitoris. Lydia was completely lost in her rapture, as she panted and moaned. All of her feelings of doubt and apprehension fled as she found herself almost at the edge. She began to rock her buttocks backwards in time to Schmidt's thrusts as their passion continued to build. He growled deep in his throat as he felt that his orgasm was almost upon him. As his fingers continued to stimulate her, Lydia felt herself start to spasm as she let herself go. She cried out his name as he too fell into the abyss of ecstasy. He had continued to slowly pump into her until he was completely spent as he grunted and groaned.

When they were both sated, Schmidt gently started to kiss her back, lapping up with his tongue the little droplets of perspiration that were on her skin. Then he withdrew himself from her to allow her to turn around to face him. God she is beautiful, he thought. Her face had taken on an alluring glow as she continued to pant. His head swooped in to give her another hungry kiss.

When Lydia was finally allowed to catch her breath, she looked up at her newly acquired lover and said, "Oh my God."

The SS officer gathered her up in his powerful arms again so that he could look deeply in her eyes and said, "Schmidt will suffice."

End Chapter Seven


	8. Bienvenue ale Mun Real

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: Curses, I don't own the Matrix Trilogy! However, I've got Voodoo dolls of the Wachowski Bros. Maybe if I stick them with enough pins, they'll sign over the rights to the Matrix to me!

_A/N_: This chapter is about Teresa's induction into the Real World. After some basic training, she will be given a mission to go back into the Matrix and seek out someone that Marcel suspects might be The One.

Thank you again for your reviews!

Chapter Eight

Bienvenue ale Mun Réal

Teresa's shivering body lay upon a hard, cold steel gurney. She tried desperately to open her eyes, but her lids felt heavy, as did the rest of her body. Her limbs were useless; she couldn't even move a finger or wiggle a toe. Her mouth felt dry, her throat was scratchy as she tried to speak.

The feeling of being pricked by hundreds of sharp needles caused her nerve endings to remind her she was still alive. At least that hasn't changed; she thought to herself, I could still feel pain. The humming and whirring of instruments were heard faintly in the background. Where am I, she wondered? Although her vision was temporarily taken from her, she could still sense that this place was not pleasant.

Then finally the welcoming sound of Marcel's baritone invaded her ears as he softly spoke to her, "Teresa, it's all right. You are safe and here with us in the Real World."

Relief washed over her as she asked in a raspy voice, "Why can't I see, why am I blind?"

Marcel paused for a moment then replied, "That's because you have never used your eyes before. Try not to talk, rest for now. When you have regained your strength, I will provide you with the answers you seek."

Six weeks had gone by since Teresa Picard had been extracted from the artificial world she had come to know as the Matrix. Her recuperation had been extraordinary, her muscles and vital organs had completely survived the journey between worlds. Teresa's mind however would need a bit more time to adjust to her new surroundings.

Despite Marie's objections, Marcel had felt it was best to keep Teresa secluded during her healing stage. It was vital that Teresa not be traumatized more than she had already been. They had almost lost her during the unplugging process, when Teresa had witnessed the gruesome sight of The Fields. The shock of seeing millions of human beings such as herself encased in pods filled with amniotic fluid had caused her to go into cardiac arrest. It took all of the skills of the ship's medic to revive her.

Teresa had been quiet and subdued during her convalescence, grateful that Marcel had been her only visitor during those first few weeks. He would faithfully bring her meals to her everyday and ask her how she was feeling. Of course the slimy gruel that would try to pass itself off as food completely disgusted her. She would rather eat a bowl of snot before bringing another spoonful of that distasteful substance to her lips. After awhile, however with Marcel's gentle insistence she started to eat the single celled protein without wanting to gag.

As her strength returned to her, Teresa finally had the courage to ask for a mirror. She wanted to see her reflection. She still remembered the utter terror she had felt when her hands had first touched the plug in the back of her head, then her eyes had gazed upon the plugs in her chest and arms. Despite her misgivings, she wanted to see firsthand what the Machines had done to her. With a grim look on his face, Marcel handed her what she had asked for.

Teresa stared at her refection in disbelief. This cannot be me, she thought, it cannot be. The woman staring back at her was pale, emaciated with huge dark circles under her eyes. Even on her worst day, Teresa had never looked this haggard. In rage and frustration she threw the mirror across the room sending it crashing into the bulkhead of the ship, shattering it into a million pieces. Marcel had taken her into his arms, slowly rocking her as she wept.

At last the day had arrived when Teresa ventured forth from the solitary confinement of her living quarters and met the rest of the crew. Marcel led her out her room then carefully down the companionway. Then they went up the steps that led to the heart of the ship's bridge. It was there that Teresa encountered the rag-tag group of people that comprised the team that Marcel relied upon to effectively carry out his rebellion against the Machines.

Of course Teresa immediately recognized her mother, Marie. A small smile of satisfaction played on her lips when she saw that her mother's beauty was also washed out and faded here in the Real World. Marie made no motion to greet her. She'll leave me alone if she knows what's good for her, Teresa thought angrily. She also recognized the two dark-haired men that always seemed to accompany Marcel whenever he entered the Matrix. They too appeared to be slightly less impressive versions of themselves displaying the same plugs that everyone else had. Marcel had introduced them as Hermes and Thor.

The ship's medic was next, her name was Athena and unlike her divine namesake she didn't seem to be very wise at all. She had a very mousy appearance and was very shy. She did not meet Teresa's gaze as she shook her hand. Lastly she made the acquaintance of the ship's Operator, The Sandman. So this is the mysterious person that Marcel speaks to on that contraption of his, Teresa mused. Her eyes widened as she noticed that he was the only one of Marcel's crew that did not possess any plugs. As if he had read her mind, The Sandman explained the absence of the holes on his person.

"I was born in Zion, made the old fashioned way like God intended his people to procreate. No sir, no test tube baby here," he stated proudly as he beat his fist on his chest. He was an attractive young man with mocha colored skin and a pair of bright hazel eyes. He smiled broadly at Teresa as he bid her welcome.

Then Marcel turned to her to say, "Well there you have it Teresa, you've met my crew. As for my ship, you are now standing on the bridge of the fastest hovercraft in the entire Zion fleet, and her name is The Morpheus. Forgive me if your living conditions are not what you are accustomed to, but we have all had to make concessions for the right to be free."

Teresa eyes roamed around the bridge of the hovercraft, taking in the sights of the strange equipment and machinery. Then she saw them, what appeared to be modified dentist or barber chairs. The head rests were fashioned with a round opening. They were ominous looking. Marcel noticing that she was curious about her surroundings offered some information to her.

"I see you've noticed the chairs. It is where we sit to plug into the Matrix. Our bodies remain here in the Real World, but our minds travel into virtual reality by means of this." Marcel had reached behind one of the chairs and pulled out a sharp metal spike.

He went on to explain, "This is inserted directly into your brain as our pirate signal is broadcast. We can then hack into the Matrix through the hard lines. Training programs can also be uploaded into your brain. Through this technology you are able to assimilate information almost instantaneously and retain it as part of your long term memory."

That last bit of information had piqued Teresa's interest. What kind of training would I receive, she wondered. Wanting to know more about the true nature of the world she was now a part of, she asked Marcel to elaborate on the war between the humans and the Machines.

"Well, Teresa, our two sides have been battling each other for as long as I can remember for control of this planet. The Machines have kept the human race in a dream like state so they can harvest our energy. They've also lied to us about our lives, our very history."

Marcel paused for moment before continuing, "You and those that are still enslaved are under the erroneous delusion that the year is 1940 and the world is at war. You also believe that the German dictator Adolf Hitler has started his conquest of Europe. However, I know that he will not be victorious. He will be soundly defeated by the Allied Forces."

Teresa stared at him with skepticism as she asked him, "How do you know all of this, who told you the outcome of this war? What Allies? As far I as know, no one has opposed Hitler, he is swallowing up countries whole making them a part of the Axis Powers."

Marcel placed his hands behind his back, standing at his full height. His dark eyes looked deeply into hers as he replied, "The war in Europe, Hitler, and the Allies are all part of the big illusion perpetuated by the Machines. The Second World War has already been fought and won. The year now is not 1940, but closer to 2040. History has repeated itself quite literally thanks to the AI."

All of the world leaders, their associates and key players that were involved in the outcome of the real World War II have all died long ago, they exist now only as programs. The Machines have painstakingly recreated that time period in an attempt to purify their crops."

Teresa stared at him dumbfounded as he continued to explain, "They want to rid themselves of those humans that have refused to accept the program of the Matrix. The Jews, gypsies, homosexuals and all the rest of the undesirables are simply humans that have become aware that something is wrong with the world. Some have even started waking up from their machine-induced slumber, only to be horrified by the harsh reality of their bondage.

Rather than allow them to be freed and come to Zion, the Machines prefer to destroy them. That is why we must fight, and free as many of these people as we can. The real Hitler murdered over six million people before he was done, if the Resistance does not do something to stop his artificial re-embodiment, then I'm afraid that the number of dead will be ten times as great."

A sickening feeling bubbled up to Teresa's throat from the pit of her stomach. If she did not get a hold of herself, she was afraid she was going to vomit this morning's ration of gruel onto Marcel's boots. Her hand reached out to steady herself on the rail of one of the chairs. When she felt confident to stand on her own, she turned her hard cold eyes on Marcel and asked, "When does my training begin?"

Marcel face beamed with pride, as a father's would as he watched his child take his or her first steps. He gave Teresa a smirk as he replied, "It begins now."

* * *

Days had turned into weeks and weeks into months as two whole years had gone by. Teresa had not only completed her training onboard the hovercraft, Morpheus, but she had become Marcel's second in command thanks to his high recommendation to the Zion Council. She had proven herself time and time again on the both the battlefields of the Matrix and the Real World. Her commitment to their cause was genuine. No member of the crew could out maneuver her, or had her hand-eye coordination in the gunner's chair when it came time to take out a few Sentinels, or Squiddies as the Zionites called them. These fierce killing machines were a new menace to the inhabitants of the Real World and were a force to be reckoned with. Their metallic tentacles could rip a man apart in matter of seconds and could breach the hull of any ship as if were nothing more that a tin can.

Marcel had seen his First Officer fight her way out of countless harrowing situations while she was carrying out missions in the Matrix. Her skills in hand to hand combat and the martial arts were unrivaled with the exception of Marcel's. He could still beat her in the sparing program. However, Teresa had developed into a true swordsman, or woman for that matter. Her ability to wield anything with a blade was unequaled. Marcel had witnessed her slice through men twice her size with blinding speed and agility.

Her mother, Marie could only stand by and watch with worry as her daughter had a few close calls, each time barely making back to the ship with her life. Sadly, their relationship had not improved. Mother and daughter had barely said anything to each other unless it was directly related to an assignment. There was also something else that was bothering Marie, Teresa's increasing attachment to Marcel. If she didn't know any better, she could have sworn that her daughter had become infatuated with him. She cringed as she watched Teresa fawn all over Marcel, following him around like a love sick schoolgirl, insisting on accompanying him whenever he had to go into the Matrix in his endless quest to find The One .

While in their bed one night, Marie turned on her side to face the man that was now her husband and said, "Marcel I am worried about Teresa. I think that she is spending way too much time with you. These missions you send her on are troubling. For as long as I've known you, you have searched the Matrix for The One, now you've got my daughter involved looking for this savior and I don't like it!"

Marcel was surprised to hear his wife say these words to him and replied, "My love, you know that my entire life has been based on fulfilling the prophecy. Once I find The One, this war will be over! Humanity will finally be free, isn't that what you want?"

"Of course, my darling, I want nothing more than to have the war end tomorrow, but I worry about my Teresa. It took us so long to find her after Sapphire had failed to take her to Ophelia. I thought that she was dead after we found out about Gaston's demise. You know that it was like a living death for me, not knowing if my only child was still alive. Now that we've found her I don't want to lose her again."

Marcel reached out and gathered his wife into the security of his brawny arms. After all of these years together, he was still as in love with her as the day he first bumped into her on that street corner. He understood her concerns, and did his best to comfort her during her moments of despair when Teresa's fate had been unknown.

Marcel knew that Marie and her daughter had not resolved their issues and he had tried to be the buffer between them. Teresa's resentment of her mother however, was an ever-present force that threatened the morale of the rest of the crew. Meals were taken in silence in the mess hall whenever they were both sitting with the rest of the group. If both women were on an away mission together in the Matrix, they only said what was necessary to each other to carry out their duties, nothing more. It saddened Marcel to see his wife so ill treated by the very daughter she gave up everything for. He would bide his time until the right moment came along, and then he would have a word in private with his First Officer, his stepdaughter, Teresa.

* * *

Early one morning the Sandman's voice boomed loudly over the ship's intercom system, rousing everyone out of bed. As Marcel and Teresa raced to the bridge to take their positions at their battle stations, Marie and the rest of the crew trudged along behind them. Marcel stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the Operator holding up a spherical object in his hand.

"What the in hell is going on? Why did you sound the alarm like that? Don't you know you should never do that unless the Squids are on the hunt?" Teresa had asked the Operator with annoyance.

Marcel raised his hand to her to signal her to quiet down. He then reached out to retrieve the item that was still in The Sandman's grasp. After securely taking it into his own hand, Marcel turned to his crew and said, "This is from the Seer, she wants to see us. Thor, Hermes bring us to broadcast level, we're going in."

Then he turned his attention to his second in command, "Teresa, Ophelia has specifically asked to meet with you. Well that is a first."

Marcel quickly assembled his away team. He had asked that Hermes, Thor and of course Teresa prepare themselves for their brief pit stop into the Construct where their Residual Self-Images would obtain the necessary weaponry, communication devices and attire to enter the Matrix. Marcel had been the last one to be strapped into his chair. Before the metal spear was driven into his waiting skull, his wife had walked over to him to bid him farewell. Teresa enviously watched them say their good-byes and share a lingering kiss before her own mind was hurtled into the Construct.

After acquiring their provisions the rebels transported themselves into virtual reality as a series of emerald colored streams of code represented by symbols and numbers started to merge, and take the shape of buildings, streets, and an entire cityscape. No matter how many times Teresa visited the Matrix, it always amazed her how real everything appeared to be. If she hadn't despised the Machines so much, she might even admire their craftsmanship and attention to detail. As for the people that still were connected to the system, Teresa knew that they continued to live out their lives in this gilded cage, blissfully unaware of their enslavement.

When all of the members of the team were present an accounted for, Marcel reached into the breast pocket of his long black leather coat and pulled out his communicator.

He immediately dialed up the ship and spoke to his Operator, "We're in."

Marcel then put the device away, and glanced over to his comrades before he led the way out of the alleyway they had materialized in. They walked up to a sleek black sedan that was parked at the entrance to the alley and silently climbed aboard. Hermes took the driver's seat with Thor planted firmly beside him on the passenger's side. Teresa and Marcel sat side by side in the backseat. Wordlessly, they started their expedition to the Seer's cottage.

After almost forty five minutes into their journey, Marcel looked over his stepdaughter trying to read on her pallid face the thoughts that might be going on in her head. Teresa demonstrated no emotion as she sat rigidly in her seat looking out the window. Her eyes were guarded by the dark tinted sunglass she wore. Marcel's large hand reached out to rest itself on hers. She quickly turned her head to look at her captain, her reason for living. It was he who had given her purpose, a new life. He made her feel that she mattered, that she wasn't a worthless piece of trash as Gaston and the dozens of men that came after him had told her.

Thanks to Marcel, she was now a warrior with a noble cause. She would never allow anyone to ever hurt her or anyone else again. In her minds eye Teresa saw herself as modern day Joan of Arc, fighting on the side of justice and bringing freedom to people that yearned for it. She had been on hundreds of assignments over the years lending her assistance to all that had sought the Resistance's help to escape from certain death at the hands of the Machines' incarnations in this reality, the Third Reich. Best of all, Marcel had been by her side through it all, lavishing his praise on her due to her accomplishments. She had never felt so needed and alive.

Not once had her mother said a kind word to her, not that she had given her the chance. There was nothing Marie could do or say that could make up for all of those years Teresa had spent alone without anyone to care for her.

Marcel's spoke softly to her as he asked, "Are you all right? You seem pensive. If you are worried about the Seer, don't be, she will tell you what you need to hear."

Teresa's visage of strength did not falter as she responded, "I think I can handle one little old lady, Marcel. There's nothing that this woman could possibly say that could rattle me, besides I don't believe in fortunetellers, remember? I decide my own fate."

Captain Marcel chuckled softly at Teresa's resolve to stay in control. She's so like her mother, he mused. Then the sensation of the car slowing down indicated to its passengers that they were nearing the end of their voyage. Finally, the vehicle came to stop in front of a humble little house with an overgrown yard and poorly tended garden. It gave the dwelling an almost deserted look, as if no one lived in it any longer. The away team all disembarked from their vehicle and began to walk up the flagstone path that led to the front door. Marcel brought his hand up and knocked. The door quickly opened as familiar face greeted the captain and his crew.

"Marcel, it's been a long time, how have you been?"

"Hello Sapphire, it's good to see you. Is Ophelia here?"

The Asian woman replied, "You know that if I am here, the Seer is as well."

Sapphire's gaze then fell upon Teresa. She was amazed at how much this girl resembled her mother. She also noticed once Teresa had removed her dark tinted lenses, she had the same cerulean eyes as Marie, but they seemed colder and more penetrating. Her ebony hair, which had now grown out to its original length, was pulled severely back off her face into a tight ponytail clearly revealing the same fine features as her mother's.

Teresa becoming irritated by Sapphire's obvious appraisal of her voiced her disapproval, "Why don't you take a picture? It will last longer."

Marcel immediately chastised his First Officer, "Teresa, you will not speak to the Guardian this way! Your mother and I owe our lives to her! You will show her and to all who reside in this house the same respect that you show me, is that understood?"

Ashamed, Teresa dropped her head and stared at the floor before offering a weak apology to Sapphire and acknowledging Marcel's command with, "Yes sir."

Satisfied, Marcel then turned to his two male companions and ordered them to stand guard outside the house. He also instructed them to signal him at the first sign of trouble. Thor and Hermes complied with their captain's bidding. They silently exited the house and stood outside the front door, their senses on high alert.

Sapphire then said, "Teresa come with me, the Seer is ready to see you now."

Teresa looked over to Marcel with a bit of uncertainty before following the Guardian to the kitchen where the all knowing Ophelia was waiting. She watched as Sapphire gracefully parted the beaded curtain of the kitchen's entryway, and then stepped aside to allow Teresa admission into the small, cozy room. The smell of baked goods was strong. It had been a long while since Teresa nose had smelled anything that good. Although she knew now that none of the sights, sounds, tastes and smells were real, that didn't stop her body from reacting to the heavenly aroma. Whatever Ophelia was baking made Teresa's mouth water.

"Welcome, child. Won't you take a seat?" asked an inviting voice.

Teresa looked over to the wooden table with two chairs. One of those chairs had an occupant, a grandmotherly looking woman with a warm smile and a pair of dancing eyes. The sight of her put Teresa at ease right away, it was as if she were seeing an old friend, someone that had her best interests at heart.

The darkly clad girl walked over the empty chair that was being offered to her and sat in it opposite her mysterious hostess. Teresa noticed that there had been a plate of cookies on the table, she was so tempted to take one, but out of etiquette, decided to wait until she was offered.

"They look don't they?" asked the Seer referring to the freshly baked biscuits. Teresa nodded in affirmation as the plate was brought up to her nose, so that she could get a good whiff. Ophelia motioned for Teresa to take a cookie, which she did. Teresa eyed the cookie suspiciously before taking a hesitant bite. As she slowly chewed on the sweet morsel, she was astounded by its texture, its sugary delectable taste, it was absolutely delicious. Not bad for a bunch of damned machines, she thought.

The Seer's eyes danced with delight as she watched Teresa thoroughly enjoy the cookie then her face turned bleak as the girl swallowed her last bite. What she had to tell her was not going to be good news, but she was confident that Teresa would be strong enough to handle it.

"Do know why I asked to see you?" she asked.

Teresa shaking her head replied, "No. I can only assume that you have something to tell me about my future. Let me warn you, that I don't believe in fortunetellers, tarot cards or any of that garbage. I fight with the Resistance because it is the right thing to do, not because I expect a miracle."

Ophelia raise an eyebrow, she was impressed at the strong will of this young woman. Years of being exposed to the harshness of life have made her hard, determined and driven, but the Seer knew that there was still a woman's heart that beat underneath that armored exterior. Ophelia decided not to skirt around the issue, she was going to reach the heart of the matter.

"Teresa, I'm not going to try to dazzle you with a bunch of mumbo-jumbo and cryptic nonsense. I've asked you here because there is someone that you need to find. It is vital that he be found and extracted out of the Matrix before the Nazi's can get their hands on him."

"Is he a potential recruit?" asked Teresa.

"No he's much more than that. This man possesses a unique ability to be able to read and decipher encrypted manuscripts. Marcel and I believe that given the proper training he will have the capability to read and manipulate the most difficult of cryptograms."

"You mean Matrix code, right?"

The Seer nodded, "Through our sources here in the Matrix, we've received information that this man has been working for the United States government directly under a General Dwight Eisenhower. The general has been using this boy to intercept and decipher German encrypted radio transmissions. Although the American's have not officially entered the war, they have been monitoring the activities of the Third Reich for quite sometime."

Teresa stood up from her seat, placed her hands on the table and leaned in very close to Ophelia. She wanted to see if the old woman would flinch at her next question, "Is he The One?"

Ophelia's face was blank, unreadable as she replied, "Marcel believes that he is."

Teresa's eyes narrowed as she gazed at the alleged clairvoyant disbelievingly. She knew that Marcel had doggedly searched for this messiah, the prophesied deliverer of mankind all of his life. Although she herself had always doubted the existence of such a person, Teresa did not falter in lending her support or assistance in Marcel's campaign to find The One.

"What do you believe soothsayer?" Teresa asked with contempt.

"It doesn't matter what I believe. Marcel has convinced himself that his search might be over and that the end of the war is near. It will up to you, Teresa, to find this boy and bring him to Marcel. He is ripe for the picking too. He already has the seed of doubt planted firmly in his mind about things he has experienced and seen that defy explanation. He is searching for the answer to his question."

"What is the Matrix?" Teresa finished for her.

Ophelia smiled at the girl, impressed with her intuitive intelligence, "Yes, you're correct. He has been searching for something or someone to fill the void in his life. He knows that something is wrong with the world. He senses there is a cancer or decay that eats away at it with each passing moment."

"All right, where do I find this boy wonder?" Teresa inquired.

"It has been brought to my attention that he has flown over to England and is staying at the British Air Force base at Heathrow Airport on a good will assignment. He is under the guise of being a foreign military operative trying to learn the latest advancements on British tactical air maneuvers.

His real mission will be to secretly have a plane fly over French airspace and parachute in. He has been told by his superiors to rendezvous with the leaders of the French Resistance."

Teresa stared at Ophelia and asked, "Does he know about us?"

"In a way he does, his superiors are under the impression that the Resistance is an underground organization that fights and rebels against the German Reich. You and I both know that is not far from the truth. His orders are to have a liaison with the Resistance so that that intelligence can be gathered and taken back to the Americans to formulate a strategy of attack should the time come," replied the Seer.

"Fine, just tell me when and where to find this man. I'll take care of the rest."

Ophelia was forthcoming with all of the information that Teresa required to acquire her target. When the Seer had finished, Teresa turned around to leave the kitchen but was detained when Ophelia called out to her.

"Teresa, there is one more thing. The love you harbor for Marcel will only lead you down one path, the path to self-annihilation. You must see that, don't you?"

Teresa slowly turned around to face the woman that had revealed her most guarded secret and replied, "Mind your own business old woman, who I love is of no concern to you!"

Ophelia rose from her chair and crossed the room to stand directly in front of the defiant girl. She placed her hands on Teresa's shoulders and looked into her eyes trying to reason with her, "It is my business and I'll tell you why! There is a choice that you will have to make and it will be a difficult one. This choice will affect the outcome of the conflict."

The Seer went on to say, "I also know that you resent your mother because you believe that she left you behind without a second thought. Marie didn't want to leave you; you must trust me on that. I made her leave you. I told her that if you were taken from the Matrix you would die."

Teresa's fists clenched tightly in anger, she was seething. "So you lied to my mother and like the fool that she is she believed you?"

Ophelia shook her head as she responded, "No, I told her the truth, you were not strong enough to survive the transition at that time. Such as it was, when you were finally extracted, you almost died."

Teresa verbally lashed out at the Seer, "You know what? I've had enough of this bullshit! You may have Marcel fooled with your mystical premonitions, but as for me I don't buy them for a second!"

The Seer was not moved by Teresa's anger, she sighed and simply said, "Teresa, one of your parents is going to die, which one will be up to you."

What do you mean die? My mother, Marcel, it can't be!" Teresa said incredulously.

"I'm afraid it is, my child, there's nothing you can do except chose which one of them it will be, "stated the Seer somberly.

Teresa's mind was reeling with the unbelievable news. If it were true how could she choose between her mother and the man she loved? She shrugged the Seers hands off her shoulders. Steely determination was taking a hold of her. Teresa was not going to allow the words of an old fraud get to her. If the time did come where the lives of her mother or Marcel were in peril, she would do everything within her power to make sure that no harm befell them.

Teresa did not speak another word as she quickly turned on her heal and took her leave of the Seer's kitchen. Her high heeled boots were producing a loud clopping sound as she took long quick strides back to the front room where Marcel was waiting.

Marcel looked at his First Officer with concern in his eyes, but knew better than to question her about her session with the Seer. He simply said, "What was said was for you alone." Teresa silently nodded her acknowledgement.

Then Marcel asked her, "Are you ready to leave?"

Teresa gave her captain a steely glance before she coldly replied, "Yes, let's get the fuck out of here."

End Chapter Eight


	9. The French Connection

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: **Perception** – The Matrix Trilogy is owned by yours truly. **Reality **– The Matrix has been created, manipulated and controlled by two evil little bastards known as the Wachowski Bros. Damn you Wachowski's! I'll get you my pretties and your little dog too!

_A/N_: This chapter is about Teresa making contact with the man Marcel believes to be The One.

Again, thanks to all of my reviewers for your kind words.

Chapter Nine

The French Connection

The clock tower at the center of the town plaza had started to thunderously chime announcing to the residents of the seaside city of Cannes that is was 10 o'clock in the evening. Horse drawn carriages were seen on the narrow cobblestone streets taking young lovers on a romantic moonlit ride around the city. Theater patrons were leaving the Cinema Paradiso after having spent an evening sitting through a hilarious double feature starring the American comedy duo, Abbot and Costello.

Bistros and sidewalk cafes were busily attending to their customers' requests for glasses of wine or a late night supper. The city was alive with activity, but it all seemed lost on the tall, introverted young man that was trying to rapidly make his way through the crowds of people. He appeared to be slightly out of place dressed in an ill fitting olive green suit. He was supposed be on a covert operation, but wearing the unattractive ensemble defeated the whole purpose of being inconspicuous, making him stick out like a sore thumb. He probably would have been better off wearing his usual attire, his US army uniform. He had to be somewhere by 10 o'clock and according to the time piece he was wearing, he was two minutes late. Damn, he cursed to himself, If I don't make it to the rendezvous point, old man Eisenhower is going to have my head on silver platter.

The dark haired man continued to push his way through the masses until he found himself at the front entrance of the gaudiest most decadent nightclub in the city, La Petite Mort, or better known to the English speaking patrons, The Little Death. Leave it the goddamned French to name an establishment after a euphemism for orgasm, thought the young man with disdain.

Hesitantly he walked up to a menacing looking doorman to try to gain admittance. In the best French he could muster he said, "Good evening sir, I was wondering if there is a cover charge to get in the door tonight?"

The doorman, who resembled an English bulldog, looked at the unkempt looking man standing before him with condescension. Not only did he look deplorable, his French was atrocious. Judging from the nasally accent, the doorman deduced that this boy was either American or British. The bouncer placed himself firmly in front of the door to the club cutting off access to the young man. He was determined to do his job by keeping this hooligan out of the club. He wanted to say something to this boy that would deter him from making any more attempts to gain entry. The doorman made the assumption that the young man did not have much money because of his inappropriate apparel.

Smiling broadly he said contemptuously, "If you want to get in tonight it will cost you 75 francs, not a penny less."

The boy's quickly shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a large sum of money. He waved the bills in front of the doorman's eyes and asked innocently, "Is this enough?"

The doorman's eyes widened as he observed denominations were more than sufficient, much more. He reached out and grabbed all of the money out of the boy's hand. Stupid American, thought the bouncer, if he doesn't have any sense to know that he was holding almost 150 francs in his hand, then he deserves to have it taken from him.

"All right _mon ami_, you've earned your ticket to paradise, go right in," stated the doorman as he stepped aside to allow the pale young man to go through the stained glass doors that comprised the entrance to the nightclub. As soon as he stepped inside he was greeted by the unmistakable sound of American Swing music being played by the headliners that evening, Cab Calloway and his orchestra. The tune being played was lively and rhythmic. It made everyone that heard it, want to get up and jitterbug to the beat. The boy continued to snake his way through the throng of people trying to get to the dance floor to strut their stuff. The young man however seemed unaffected by the infectious upbeat tempo.

He wanted nothing to do with this whole scene; he was simply there to meet up with a member of the so-called French Resistance. His bosses in Washington were anxious to obtain as much intelligence from this group. They had wanted to get a true assessment of what is really going on with Germany and the rest of Europe.

At first, America had tried the diplomatic route, but Berlin had been resistant to any attempts by Washington to get them to divulge their secrets. Early on, the Germans had dismissed President Franklin D. Roosevelt as a simpleton, a crippled man running a country of weak-minded fools. Then the American ambassador had been expelled from Berlin and the embassy had been closed as soon as Hitler came into power.

It was General Eisenhower that had finally devised a plan to send an operative into France to try and make contact with the organization that he believed had first hand information on the German's true intentions and activities, the French Resistance. He knew just the right man for such an undertaking, Private First Class, Thomas A. Ackerman.

Now, Private Tommy Ackerman found himself waiting to be approached by some dubious spy in this tacky nightclub. His eyes searched the crowd, wanting to test his new skills of detection and reconnaissance, to see if he could spot the Resistance member that was simply known as Nova. Suddenly feeling stupid he asked himself, hell, who the fuck am I looking for? I don't even know if this 'Nova' is a man or a woman.

Tommy sighed as he shoved his hands into his pant pockets. He felt awkward just leaning against a wall, looking like he didn't belong. Everyone else in the club seemed to be paired up. He watched longingly as couples gyrated to the music, dancing close and suggestively. Tommy observed other couples sitting at booths or tables, kissing, groping and holding one another. He looked away when realized that he was becoming aroused by his voyeurism. He yearned desperately to have someone in his life that would make him feel the same way as the couples he was observing.

Then he saw _her_.

A dark haired woman had locked her ocean blue eyes on his. Was his mind playing tricks on him? She couldn't be looking at me, he thought. Just as he dismissed her glance as a figment of his imagination, she started to slowly walk over to Tommy. He was transfixed, rooted to the spot where he stood. Afraid that this beautiful mirage would vanish, he dared not move. His heartbeat raced as his blood rushed through his veins. His breathing had become slow and measured as he watched this woman in black sensuously continue to approach him.

She was the most desirable woman that Tommy had ever laid his eyes on. He noticed that her long black tresses were loose, framing her alabaster face. Her painted fiery red lips were a stark contrast to the rest of her pallid beauty, making her irresistible. Her eyes, which had not lost their intense contact with Tommy's, were striking. She had the eyes of a bird of prey.

Her slim, angular figure was clothed in strange but alluring attire, accentuating every curve, every line of her body. She was wearing a shiny black vinyl bodice that was tapered at the waist and strapless leaving her shoulders bare. Just below that, a short black leather skirt that would be considered indecent in some social circles. Her long, shapely legs were covered by fishnet stockings that were visible above her thigh high stiletto heeled boots, also black vinyl.

Tommy was instantly intrigued and very much attracted to this mystifying woman that was sashaying her way to him. Then there she was, standing before him, her eyes challenging him to be the first to speak. Tommy just stood there, his mouth agape, not knowing what to say.

The woman, observing his hesitation, decided to break the ice, "Hello, you must be Private Ackerman."

The spell was broken as soon as Tommy heard his own name. He quickly realized that she must be his connection to the Resistance. Strange, somehow he thought that his contact would be a man; he never dreamed in a million years that the rebels would send a woman, and a totally gorgeous one at that.

"Ah, yes hello Mademoiselle, but please just call me Tommy. I wouldn't want to blow my cover."

"All right, then may I ask one favor, let's speak English. No offense, but your French leaves much to be desired."

Tommy smiled sheepishly. He was a little embarrassed that his grasp of the local language was poor. He had done his best to learn colloquial French from a phonograph record the State Department had loaned him. He had learned some basic phrases to get him by, but his pronunciation was less than perfect, his thick American accent always gave him away.

The girl did not return his smile as she continued to speak to him in his native tongue with a slight French accent, "I am Nova, it is an alias I use when I perform field work. You should consider getting one of your own, so that you don't 'blow your cover' as you say. It's not very smart of you to use your true identity. I could be a Nazi spy for all you know. First lesson in espionage, never tell the enemy anything, especially who you are!"

After she saw that Tommy had nodded, Nova continued, "I've been instructed by my superiors to transport you to a secret location, where you will be debriefed, then meet with the leaders of the Resistance. Now, we must hurry."

Tommy, not fully comprehending her urgency asked her, "What's the rush? I just got here. I haven't even checked in to a hotel or anything."

Nova stared at him as if he were stark-raving mad, "The 'rush', as you so eloquently put it, is that time is always against us. Our enemies are always out there, waiting for the moment when one of us is unguarded so that they can strike."

Still not understanding, Tommy made the almost fatal mistake of asking her one last question, "What enemies do you speak of? I don't see any goose stepping Nazis around here, do you?"

Nova lost what little remained of her patience. This man was obviously dense. She deftly reached into her boot and pulled out a long dagger. With one swift, fluid motion, she brought the blade up the Tommy's throat, as her body roughly pinned his against the wall he had been leaning against. Her azure eyes were boring into his soft brown orbs, forcing him to pay attention to every word she had to say.

"Look, I don't have time for twenty questions, nor do I have the patience for stupidity. Being stupid gets you killed, got it? Now move your American ass, before someone puts a bullet in it!"

Tommy didn't know whether to be turned on or soil his pants. Nova exuded a dangerous, lethal sexuality that was way beyond anything he had ever experienced. The fact that she was someone to contend with just made her more appealing. He nodded slowly, waiting for her remove the dagger's blade away from his neck. When she had done so, Tommy brought a shaky hand to his throat to make sure that he wasn't bleeding.

Nova had slipped her weapon back into her boot then turned her eyes back on Tommy, "O.K., you'll follow me. My motorcycle is parked right outside, come on, let's go."

A motorcycle, holy crap, she's drives a motorcycle? Tommy thought worriedly. Back home he had tried his hand at trying to learn to ride his friend's motor bike. He had only managed to crash head on with his dad's tractor, sending him flying into the hen house. Tommy absent-mindedly rubbed his torso, where just underneath his shirt was a nasty scar. It served as a reminder of his little misadventure.

Nova turned on her heel to lead the way out of the smoke filled nightclub. Tommy followed behind her, trying his best not to let his eyes stare at her heart-shaped derrière as it undulated underneath her provocatively short skirt. Finally, they were outside the suffocating ambiance of the club. Tommy deeply breathed in the fresh night air as he continued to trail behind Nova.

Then Nova stopped before a sleek, black motorcycle. Its aerodynamic lines and large powerful engine, told Tommy that this machine was built for speed. Nova had reached over the side of the cycle and retrieved two helmets. She tossed one over at Tommy, who fumbled and almost dropped it. Nova had managed to put hers on with ease.

Nova then mounted her mechanical steed and started it up. Her hands turned the handles as she revved the engine. She then turned to a very visibly nervous Tommy and said, "Well hop on, we haven't got all night. Captain Marcel is waiting."

Tommy put on his head gear and did as he was told, sliding in behind Nova. He slowly encircled his hands around her waist. When she was certain that he was securely on her bike, she took off at the motorcycle's top speed. Tommy couldn't believe that this woman could drive a bike this way. She was a speed demon, a daredevil as she weaved in and out of traffic with little regard for the safety of the other drivers on the road. Tommy found himself shutting his eyes closed at one point when it appeared that they were going to collide with on coming truck. Nova managed to dart out of the way of certain death just seconds before impact. She had smiled unrepentantly to herself when she noticed that Tommy's grip on her had tightened.

The motorcycle continued on its high-velocity journey, as traffic lights, vehicles and scenery whizzed blindingly by. Tommy thought that this insane ride would never end, when suddenly the motorbike came to a screeching halt, causing Tommy to almost careen forward. Nova's foot pushed out the kickstand as she turned the engine off. She allowed Tommy to disembark first, then she followed suit. Nova had taken off her helmet and shook her ebony mane as Tommy stared at her. He too, removed his protective head gear.

Nova looked over at him and said, "All right hot shot, we're here. No, how do you Americans say? Oh yes, no 'funny business' or I will kill you where you stand!"

Tommy swallowed hard as he nodded, understanding her intentions. He then turned to face an old building that at one point had been a grand hotel. Over the years it had fallen into disrepair, until finally it had been abandoned by the family that had owned for almost five generations. All of the windows had been boarded up and the double doors that were once the entrance way to the main lobby, were rotted and barely hanging on by its rusted hinges. He couldn't believe that the Resistance had resorted meeting in dark deserted buildings, like rats.

As Tommy's feet began to climb the wooden steps behind Nova. He was afraid that their combined weight might cause the dry rotted wood to collapse beneath them. Miraculously, they had made it to the top of the steps. Then they cautiously pushed in one of the doors to get inside.

Tommy was squinting; his eyes were trying to adjust due to the lack of illumination. When he was able to see, his eyes gazed upon what had been the front lobby of the hotel. It was now a decaying space, filled with the ghosts of its once glorious past. Tattered and torn furnishings were scattered about. Dust and spider webs covered almost every exposed surface. Dirt also obscured the black and white checkerboard patterned floor.

Tommy had a strong urge to just turn around and leave, but knew if he did, Eisenhower would skin him alive. He had to press on; he had gotten this far without being detected by the enemy. Tommy needed to see this mission through its inevitable conclusion, not matter where it may lead. Nova had led him to a rickety, winding staircase. Wordlessly, she pointed a long elegant finger upwards, signaling him to climb the stairs to find whatever was awaiting him on the upper levels the crumbling structure.

"He is waiting for you in room 303. I sure hope that you're everything that he thinks you are, because if you're not you'll have to deal with me," Nova icily informed him.

Tommy hesitantly glanced up the staircase then back at Nova before starting his ascent into the unknown. His legs felt heavier with each step he climbed, as his hand slid up on the smooth surface of the railing. He continued his laborious ascent as he first made the landing of the second floor, then started upward again towards the dark recesses of the third floor.

Tommy then found himself in a black ominous corridor. He treaded cautiously as he tried to find the door to room 303. His long fingers slid along the walls as he felt his way down the hallway, like a blind man. Finally, he stood in front of the door that unbeknownst to Tommy, his destiny was waiting to claim him.

His brown eyes widened in surprise, as he witnessed the door knob being turned from the other side of the door. Then the door creaked as it was slowly opened, revealing the decomposing interior of a master suite.

Hesitantly, Tommy crossed the threshold, trying his best to keep from betraying his fear. Surprisingly, there was a black marble fireplace that was in use, the hot orange-red flames were offering some warmth to otherwise cold and dank room. Directly in front of the fireplace were two red leather overstuffed chairs strategically placed to face each other. In the center space between the two chairs was a small wooden table with a glass of water on its dusty surface. To Tommy it seemed those chairs were the only inviting aspect of the entire hotel suite.

Then suddenly a deep male voice rang out in perfect English towards him, causing the young man to jerk his head in the direction of its source, "Hello Tommy, I'm so glad you could come."

Tommy's gaze fell upon a tall, hulk of a man. He was massive and his commanding presence seemed to fill the room with his authority. He wore his long leather coat the same way kings or emperors might wear their royal robes. His seemingly calm demeanor in no way undermined his obvious power, he was in charge and all who saw him immediately knew it.

"Are you Marcel Dubois?" Tommy asked.

"Yes", the man replied.

"All right, then you know why I'm here. General Eisenhower needs me to find out how much this so-called Resistance knows about the Nazi's."

Marcel responded, "What I have to share with you will more than satisfy your quest for knowledge, Tommy. I also happen to know that there are other truths you seek. I may be able to provide the answer your most pressing one."

Tommy's voice was barely above a whisper as he asked his next question, "What is the Matrix?"

Marcel smiled slowly as he replied, "Good now we're getting somewhere. Tommy, no one can be told what the Matrix is, they have to be shown. What I can tell you is this; the Matrix is everything you can see, touch, taste and feel. It is the Great Lie for your five senses. It is all around you, deceiving you and keeping you enslaved.

I know through your many years of listening and decoding encryptions you have come across limited information of the existence of the Matrix. You've heard the Germans discussing it during their daily radio and telegraph transmissions to one another, but you have yet to grasp its true significance."

Tommy felt as if he on the verge of an epiphany; he was on the cusp of discovering what was really going on in this world. Whatever happened next, he could not let his fears keep him from knowing the truth, no matter how terrible it was.

"Marcel, I want to know what you know, please tell me," Tommy desperately pleaded.

Marcel waved a powerful hand over towards the two chairs and asked Tommy to take a seat. Once both men were seated, Marcel reached into the breast pocket of his leather coat and retrieved a small, silver oblong case. His fingers popped it open to display its contents to Tommy's curious eyes.

There they were the red pill and the blue pill, the young man knew that somehow no matter which one he chose, there would be no turning back and his life as he knew it would never be the same.

End Chapter Nine


	10. A Night at the Opera

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: The Matrix Trilogy is owned and operated by the Wachowski Bros. Although, maybe they should have written a disclaimer of their own at the beginning of the first Matrix film, if the internet rumors are true. I read on some the fan sites that the Brothers, producer Joel Silver and other defendants have just settled a copyright infringement lawsuit with a woman by the name of Sophia Stewart, the self-proclaimed Mother of the Matrix. I guess imitation is the best form of flattery. Anyway, whoever created the Man versus Machine epic, please don't drag me into court, I don't have $222,000,000.00!

_A/N:_ Another chapter about everyone's favorite Nazi, Commandant Schmidt!

Once again I'd to thank all of my loyal reviewers. You guys rock! Also, since the Holiday Season is upon us once again, I want to wish you all a very Merry Smithmas and a Happy Neo Year!

Chapter Ten

A Night at the Opera

The sound of a ringing telephone could be heard through a closed door of a luxury apartment. The flat's tenant, a strikingly beautiful blond woman carrying two full shopping bags, was racing up the stairs. The persistent ringing continued as the woman now found herself in front of that door, fumbling with her keys to try to get inside the residence before the caller gave up.

She inserted the correct key, turned it and hurriedly pushed the door open, leaving it ajar. Dropping her bags by the foyer, she hastily walked over to the rectangular glass topped granite table where her elegant telephone sat, as it rang incessantly.

The woman quickly picked the receiver with a delicate hand, placing it to her ear.

"Hello?" she said into the phone.

A deep, rich male voice said, "Lydia, my _liebchein,_ where were you? I was beginning to worry."

The sound of the man's voice made her heart start to palpitate rapidly. He must have read my mind, she thought, I was just thinking about him, more like obsessing over him if truth be told.

Lydia smiled as she replied, "My dear Schmidt, why would you worry about me? I'm fine; you however are in harm's way everyday, I'm the one that should worry."

"Nonsense, you know very well that I can handle myself, besides why shouldn't I be concerned for the wellbeing of my woman? You know that these are perilous times; it is not safe, not even for you. I must know where you are at all times, is that clear?"

Lydia was flustered; she was at a loss for words. She was overwhelmed with feelings of love and gratitude. Schmidt does love me after all, why else would be so protective? One thing was bothering her; he had never told Lydia how he felt about her. Sure, he had told Lydia hundreds of times in the throes of passion how wonderful, beautiful and special she was. He even had gone as far as telling her that he needed her, wanted her. She was led to believe that she was important to him, but the word 'love' never came up.

Schmidt was for all intents and purposes, an attentive lover. He showered her with gifts, such as sparkling jewels, fur coats, and the finest clothes that Berlin's boutiques had to offer. He would give her money to spend how she liked. Now that she was the consort of a high ranking Party official, she could afford the finer things in life. Lydia had come along way from being the poor little rich girl working in a second rate dress shop. Schmidt had insisted that she quit her job, since he thought it was beneath her. He had even moved her into the luxurious apartment that she now resided in, where of he of course would visit each night to make love to her until the wee hours of the morning.

Despite Schmidt's protests, Lydia started spending her Saturdays in the most chic beauty salon in Berlin, the _Bon Belle. _She would spend most the day gossiping with the officers' wives while she was getting her flaxen hair done up into an elaborate style or getting her long fingernails manicured.

A slow knowing smile appeared on her lips as she recollected the day Schmidt found out about her Saturday beauty ritual.

* * *

"_It is not necessary for you to go to that place. You are already so beautiful, you can't improve on perfection. Besides, all the women there are nothing more than a bunch of fat, old, and bored housewives. I don't want you to associate with them," Schmidt had protested._

_Lydia had thought that he was being silly. She tried to alleviate his concern by telling him, "Oh my darling, even Eva Braun herself goes the salon once and awhile. If it's good enough for her; I don't see the harm of me going as well. If you are worried that I'll turn into one of them, don't be. I will always do my best to look stunning for you."_

_Then suddenly, Schmidt's face had become a stoic mask, his cobalt eyes were cold and lifeless as they stared into hers. Then in a slow deliberate tone that sent chills down her spine he had said, "See that you do, I would hate to have to replace you."_

_Lydia had not known what to make of that strange comment or her lover's odd demeanor. For a brief moment she had convinced herself that she was not dealing with a man at all, he was more like a machine or a robotic entity. _

_Then with same abruptness his deportment had changed once more, transforming Schmidt back into the man that Lydia had grown to love and trust._

_He had lowered his head down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. When he had broken their kiss, his hand had reached into his uniform jacket. He had pulled out a simple white envelope that was addressed to her. Lydia had squealed in glee when she recognized the handwriting. She couldn't wait for Schmidt to hand the envelope to her, so she had wrenched out of his grasp._

"_Oh, Schmidt, it's from Karl," she said happily as she clutched the letter to her bosom, "Have you seen him or spoken to him lately?"_

"_No my liebchein, I have not. Although I can tell you that he has been deployed to our command post in Egypt. Don't worry, his superiors there have sent me a telegraph concerning his progress. Corporal Rhinehart is doing fine and is alive and well," he replied with false bravado._

"_Schmidt, thank you for everything, you don't know how much this means to me. You have done so much for my brother and I, I couldn't possibly even begin to repay you."_

_Commandant Schmidt had given Lydia a salacious smile as he said slyly, "Oh, I can think of several ways you can show your gratitude." His hand had reached out and grabbed hers. He then placed her hand firmly on the crotch of his trousers. One of Lydia's perfectly defined eyebrows had shot up as a sensuous smile played on her full ruby lips. Her hand had felt his state of full arousal. She was amazed at how insatiable he was, always wanting her no matter the time of day or place._

"_Commandant, you do realize that we are in a public park? How do you propose we, um, continue this little activity?" she asked with feigned distress._

_Schmidt had spied a cluster of trees that were standing just a few feet away from them. His internal scanners swept over the area, until his data processor informed him of the perfect spot where he could make Lydia shriek out his name in bliss. _

_He had reached down and removed her hand from his throbbing crotch. Still keeping a hold of her slender wrist, Schmidt had started to lead the way towards the trees. He had been moving so fast, Lydia was having a hard time keeping up with his long strides. She had dropped her brother's letter in the process._

"_Schmidt, where are you taking me? You can't possibly think that I'd let you make love to me here?"_

"_Lydia, haven't you learned anything from me? An SS officer always gets what he wants, when he wants it and how he wants it. It's the least you could do after all I've done for you. Remember, liebchein, nothing in this life is free, sooner or later you have to pay the piper."_

_Lydia had been offended by his cruel words. She had tried desperately to break free of Schmidt's vise grip, but had failed to do so. As he had continued to drag her along behind him, her thoughts were screaming at her, who in the hell does he think he is? How dare he speak to me this way! I'm no whore, and I won't let this conceited bastard treat me like one!_

_She was livid and out of pure anger she shouted out to him, "You can go fuck yourself, I won't be your little slut! Remember who you are dealing with!"_

_Schmidt had let go of her wrist, only to bring the back of his hand up to her face, savagely slapping it. The force of the blow had sent her crashing into the trunk of an enormous oak tree. Her body had slid down the tree trunk and ended up as crumpled heap at the base of the tree. Hot tears had sprung from her eyes and were rolling down her cheeks, as she started to sob. _

_The commandant looked over at Lydia with disdain as he stated, "It is you that should remember who are dealing with! If it weren't for me, you'd still be working in that pathetic little shop holding on to your memories of the past. I made you who you are, don't you forget that! I can easily take away everything I've ever given you. You are nothing without me, do you understand, nothing!"_

_Lydia had winced at every stinging word that had emanated from his lips. His voice had been gruff and laced with hatred. He had turned his back on her in disgust. _

_Oh, my God, she thought, how could I be so stupid? I've got a good thing going with Schmidt; I've got money, and social standing. Best of all I' have a man that most of those cows at the salon would kill to have in their beds instead of their husbands. I can't lose him, not now!_

_Having risen from the ground, Lydia slowly walked over to where Schmidt had been standing. She tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder, but he was stiff and unyielding as he continued to stand with his back to her. She had swallowed hard before bringing herself to say the next few words, "Schmidt, I am sorry."_

_Schmidt had slowly turned around to face her and said, "Good, you should be. Lydia, you must understand one thing before this relationship goes any further, you are mine. You've belonged to me ever since the night you turned your flesh over to me. _

_I have shown you my appreciation, haven't I? I've given you presents, taken you to the best restaurants. You have attended every social event this season, including the Fuehrer's birthday party thanks to my influence. All I want in return is that you surrender to me completely. Give yourself to me when I require it and no harm will ever come to you, I will never strike you again, I swear it."_

_Lydia's face had been aching where he had hit her. If it had been anyone else, she probably would have run for her life, but this was Schmidt. Despite her misgivings, she had grown to care for him. She had also become accustomed to the lavish lifestyle he had bestowed upon her. She couldn't possibly give it all up and go back to being a shop girl, an anonymous nobody. Cautiously she had wrapped her arms around his torso, as she laid her head on his broad chest. Schmidt had made no motion to return the embrace, it was as if he were waiting for something._

_Then she had said the four words that sealed her fate, and had signaled to Schmidt that she had submitted to his will, body, mind, and soul. _

"_I love you, Schmidt."_

_Her declaration of love had made him smile smugly. He then encircled her voluptuous body with his arms enfolding her in a powerful embrace. His lips began to kiss the top of her head as he breathed deeply to take in the jasmine scent of her golden hair. His mouth trailed along her temple, and then he had placed soft feathery kisses across her smooth forehead. He had kissed the tip of her pert little nose before finally placing his greedy mouth on hers._

_Lydia opened her mouth immediately to allow his probing tongue to enter, she moaned loudly as she felt his tongue sliding against hers. Before she knew what was happening, Schmidt had backed her up against the very tree Lydia had careened into moments earlier. As their kiss had deepened, Schmidt had moved his long powerful fingers to the front of Lydia's cream colored silk blouse. He worked quickly to undo the pearl buttons. When he had completed his task, his hands parted the silky material to reveal Lydia's feminine torso. _

_Schmidt had broken their intense kiss as his lips started to travel down her neck, swirling his tongue in the hollow of her throat, causing Lydia to groan with pleasure. His lips had continued their descent until they found the valley between her full bosoms, which were still encased in a bothersome brassiere. Schmidt had dipped his tongue into her cleavage, as Lydia started to pant wildly. She couldn't believe this was happening in such a public place. What if someone were to see them? All worrisome thoughts left had her when she felt Schmidt reach around behind her to unhook the clasps of her bra. Then he removed her blouse and undergarment, casting them aside on the grassy surface of the ground._

_What he saw pleased and excited him to no end. Lydia's supple body was pinned against the tree by his full body weight. Her beautiful breasts were completely exposed to him; the plump rosy nipples were erect just begging to be suckled by his eager mouth. Giving in to his want, Schmidt cupped her left breast in his hand as his bent his head in the direction of the erect nub. Instead of taking it into his mouth, however, he placed the nipple in between his thumb and index finger and began to gently twist it. Lydia had been arching her back, pleading with Schmidt to suckle her, but he wouldn't comply, not yet. He continued to rub and twist her nipples with his fingers and the palms of his hands, knowing full well that it was maddening her. He could hear her moans as her breathing had become fast and labored._

_Finally Schmidt darted his tongue out and started to flick at her left nipple, then he had drawn it into his mouth, and began to suckle her fast and hard. Lydia was a slave to her lust as she felt hot liquid heat being generated between her thighs. The sensation of just having Schmidt's mouth on her breast was taking her to the point of no return._

"_Please Schmidt don't stop, I think I'm going to come!" she moaned passionately._

_Schmidt stopped his oral assault on her bosom and said, "Not before I'm inside you liebchein."_

_With those words, he reached down to hike up her long red skirt. His hands slid up her smooth creamy thighs until they found what they were searching for. He groaned deep in his throat when he felt that she was moist and ready to receive him. He ripped the barrier of her panties off her, he then commanded Lydia to unzip his pants and unleash his enormous member. She complied immediately. Her hands stroking the shaft as she brought it forth._

"_Do you want me Lydia?" he asked huskily as he felt her hand continue to stroke him._

"_I want you Schmidt, now, do it now!" she replied agonizingly. _

_Without another word, he pushed her hand off of him, then plunged himself deeply into the inner recesses of her hot wet opening, causing her to cry out. Lydia instinctively wrapped her long legs around Schmidt's lower back, anchoring him. Schmidt had started to thrust into her, with deep, long strokes as he slid his hands underneath Lydia, cupping her buttocks firmly. He looked deeply into her eyes as he drove himself into her, harder and faster grunting and groaning with exertion. Lydia felt herself getting closer and closer to sweet release as her arms held onto his still clothed body for dear life._

_Schmidt had been straining to stay in control of his emotions, but he found that with each tryst with Lydia, as he tasted her, touched her and possessed her, he was getting closer to betraying his true machine nature. Copulating with Lydia made him feel primal and earthy. These were the very feelings that he abhorred in humans, and now he was experiencing them, and it disgusted him. _

_Outwardly to his colleagues he was the pristine, stoic killing machine, the pride of the Fatherland and the Mainframe. However, when he was not under the glaring scrutiny of the Reich, his sensors would start to tingle, his loins stirring with excitement as his CPU would replay his last encounter with Lydia in excruciating detail. His body would hunger for the exquisite relief that only she could give him. He had become completely obsessed with her. His desire and passion for her was all consuming. _

_His every waking thought was about Lydia. When he wasn't with her, his body ached to feel her again. He was haunted by his compulsion, day and night and it was driving him to the brink of insanity. Oh how he hated her for having the power to reduce a powerful program such as himself into a sexual addict, craving her every minute of the day. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to be rid of his feelings of lust, and would be tempted to asphyxiate her while they were in bed together. _

_His fantasies would combine terrible visions of sex and violence as he visualized himself slowly squeezing the life out her while he brought himself to an orgasm. Then logic would take over and remind him that if he did that, then he would lose his favorite plaything. So when he felt his aggression getting out of hand, he would unmercifully take it out on the innocent inmates of the concentration camp. He would play God as he condemned men, women and children to their deaths. _

_A perverse smile played on his lips as he remembered that one of those unfortunate souls had been Lydia's very own brother, Karl. Now here he was using his delicious sister for his own amusement. Ah life is good, he thought._

_With a strenuous tone Schmidt heatedly whispered in her ear, "Remember Lydia, you belong to me, completely. Say you'll surrender to me, say it and I'll let you come. You do want to come don't you?"_

_Lydia moaned her response, "Yes, Schmidt, please let me come!"_

"_Not until you say it."_

"_Yes, I surrender to you; I'm all yours whenever you want and wherever you want me. I'm yours forever, do with me what you will, just don't' stop fucking me!" she shrieked._

_Satisfied with her obedience, he began to pump into her with all of his might as he slid his finger between them, then he started to rapidly rub on her swollen clitoris. The combination of his powerful penetrating thrusts and the stimulation from his finger brought Lydia to an intensely strong climax. She started to convulse as wave after wave of her orgasm whipped through her body. She had screamed Schmidt's name over and over again, leaving her hoarse._

_Only when he was certain that she was completely sated and under his control, he let himself go. He groaned deeply as he reached his peak, as he too had cried out her name._

_They held onto to each other for a long while afterwards, basking in the afterglow. Lydia hand reached up to gently touch his face as she said, "I love you Schmidt."_

_Secure in his total conquest of her, he arrogantly responded, "I know." _

* * *

"Lydia, are you still there? Answer me!" Schmidt's voice said urgently.

"Oh I'm sorry darling, I was daydreaming I guess. Now what were you asking me?" Lydia said embarrassingly.

"As I was saying, I was able to procure two tickets for the opera tonight. I've been told that they are the best seats in the house. I would like you to accompany me."

When she heard Schmidt say the opera, her full attention was back to the telephone conversation, "The best seats in the house you say? Then that would mean that we would be sitting in the Fuehrer's balcony!"

"Precisely, it is very exclusive, and very private. Before the Fuehrer left for Poland this morning, he had asked me if I would like the tickets. He explained that he would not be using them since he and Eva had little lover's spat."

Sensing that there was some juicy gossip behind that comment, she pressed Smith to divulge all he knew about Hitler and Eva.

"It would seem," Schmidt's voice drawled on the other end of the phone, "that the Protector of the Fatherland has taken on another mistress."

Lydia was like a fish that had taken the bait and was waiting to be reeled in. She pleaded with Schmidt to identify the woman that had taken up with Hitler and was humiliating that snooty Eva Braun in the process. She had a strong dislike for Eva ever since she snubbed Lydia at the Fuehrer's birthday party two years ago. Eva had completely ignored her and had demeaned her when she reminded everyone in attendance that she used to frequent the dress shop where Lydia had worked.

She could still her Eva's cruel laugh as she whispered into her guests' ears then point at her mockingly. I'll have the last laugh, you bitch, thought Lydia, I guess the rumors are true, Hitler got tired of your lack of enthusiasm in bed and decided to find himself a real woman.

Lydia implored her lover to reveal the big secret, "Darling, don't keep me in suspense. Please tell me who is the Fuehrer is running around with? "

Schmidt paused for a moment before responding, "The Fuehrer is sleeping with Madame Penelope Mero, the Parisian mayor's wife."

Lydia had struck gossip gold; she couldn't wait to tell her friends at the salon this tantalizing tidbit. The girls would go absolutely wild, and Lydia would be the center of attention. Everyone would be hanging on her every scandalous word as she spilled the beans about Eva Braun's domestic strife.

She had to get off the phone quickly so she could get to the salon before they closed at six o'clock. "Darling, what time does the curtain go up tonight?"

Schmidt replied simply, "At eight sharp, so I will be by at seven thirty to pick you up."

Lydia looked at the clock on the wall, it read three forty-five. Good there was still time to get a well deserved afternoon of beauty and gossip before tonight's events.

"Well my love, I must dash. I simply look dreadful so I've got to go to the salon and get dolled up for tonight. "

"Lydia, don't tell me you are still going to that rumor mill that tries to pass itself off as a respectable place of business? I've already told you I don't want you get your hair done there. There must be at least a dozen more salons and beauty parlors that are comparable if not better than the _Bon Belle_."

"Oh, my love, please don't be angry with me, but with such short notice there won't be time to get an appointment for today at another salon. Besides they all know me at the _Bon Belle. _I promise, after today, I will not go back there, you have my word. You can even pick the stylist yourself if you want to."

"That won't be necessary, just be sure to cut your ties with these people after today. Oh, by the way, I know that you like to run that pretty little mouth of yours by partaking of the latest gossip.

What I told you about the Fuehrer's affair stays between us; I don't want you telling those hags about it. Don't forget Eva Braun's brother is part of my team. It would seriously undermine my authority over him if he were to find out that his sister's reputation is being maligned in public by my lover. Do we understand each other, Lydia?"

Sighing her defeat into the phone she replied, "Yes, Schmidt, I understand."

"Good, now run along and get beautiful for me. Oh, there is one more thing, "he said a slightly seductive tone.

Lydia asked him, "What is it?"

"I want you to wear the satin burgundy dress I bought you last week; you know the one with the plunging neckline? I also want to make one more request about your attire for this evening.

I don't want you to wear any undergarments under your gown. As a matter of fact, I don't think I want to you wear undergarments under any of your clothes, from now on. Besides I'm spending a fortune trying to replace all of the panties I've ripped off of you. I like the idea of knowing that you are accessible to me anytime I want you," he said in a deep husky masculine voice.

The thought of being naked and vulnerable under her clothes both troubled and excited Lydia. Her body trembled with anticipation. God only knew what that insatiable man had in store for her that evening.

* * *

The front door of the _Bon Belle _salon swung open, allowing Lydia Rhinehart to step inside the beauty shop. She was immediately greeted by the smiling face of the establishment's proprietress, Ingra Huffman. The women clutched each others hands then gave each other duplicitous air kisses as they said their hellos.

The red-headed Ingra, who always wore too much cosmetics and overpowering perfume, smiled at Lydia as she said, "My dear girl, you look marvelous! Life with that commandant of yours certainly agrees with you!"

Lydia returned her smile as her hand reach up to flip her long blond hair off her shoulder. "Thank you Ingra, but you have to do your best to make me look absolutely perfect for Schmidt tonight; he is taking me to the opera!"

"The opera, well, well, well! That is special! My husband Heinrich has tried for weeks to get tickets for us, but we were told there were none to be had. Apparently it pays to know people in high places."

Smiling slyly, Lydia responded, "Indeed it does. Schmidt managed to get his from the Fuehrer himself! Evidently, he won't be needed them since little Eva is not feeling so well."

Ingra's raised one eyebrow. Something in the inflection of Lydia's voice told her that there was an outrageous tale dying to escape from her ruby lips.

Clapping her hands together, Ingra summoned her staff of hair stylists, manicurist and makeup artist to use all of their expert skills to transform the already beautiful Lydia into a radiant vision of exquisite splendor.

Lydia was seated into the first available stylist's chair. As combs teased, and scissors trimmed her wheat colored tresses, the manicurist filed, buffed and painted the nails of her fingers and toes with Lydia's favorite shade of polish, Cherries in the Snow. She also treated herself to a complete facial; her skin was exfoliated and moisturized during the process. All the while Lydia hummed a happy little tune to herself, she was waiting for the opportune moment to disclose the secret that was threatening to burst out of her at any second.

Some of the other salon regulars had entered the shop shortly after Lydia. These women were part of the gaggle who Schmidt had despised to no end. While there were groups of other women that enjoyed a little gossip over a little friendly bridge game, or a timid tea party, the ladies of the _Bon Belle_ took rumors and innuendos to a whole new level of bitchiness.

One of these women was the short dumpy looking Helga Strauss. She was sort of the ring leader of this clandestine exchange of half truths and slanderous narratives. She would always have the girls in an uproar as she mesmerized them with the latest gossip.

Not today, Lydia thought to herself, Helga will never be able to top what I know about that little slut Eva Braun.

Helga had seated herself in her usual spot at the center of the salon on a plush emerald green love seat. She pristinely crossed her chubby little legs at the ankles, as her hands smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles on her black and white polka dotted dress. She pressed her lips together, as she waited for the other patrons to gather around her like a hungry pack of hyenas. Anyone that frequented the salon knew that when Helga Strauss sat on that love seat, it meant only one thing; there was a deliciously scandalous story to be told.

When all of the women had flocked around her, Frau Strauss began to spin her yarn, "Well girls, you know that I'm not one to gossip, but a little birdie has told me that a certain captain's wife was seen rummaging through the bargain bin at the local department store. It seems that her husband's pay packet was seriously reduced due some botched up assignment for the Secretary of National Security."

A ditzy strawberry blond woman named Hilda asked, "It wouldn't be Captain's Hess' wife, would it? I thought those diamond earrings she was wearing the other night at my dinner party looked so fake."

Helga gave Hilda a knowing smile of complicity as she replied, "You've always had a good eye for spotting a fake, whether it be jewels or the social climbers that wear them!" The women all started to cackle at Helga's last comment.

The only one that had remained silent had been Lydia. She was still seated in the stylist's chair receiving the finishing touches on her hair and makeup. Her sapphire eyes glanced over to the group of women with contempt. They were such followers, always kissing Helga's backside. Well today will be my turn, she thought arrogantly. Helga has held the spotlight for too long!

Lydia cleared her throat loudly to try and gain the attention of Helga's audience. When all eyes were on her she said directly to Helga, "My dear, that story is old news, anyone that's anyone, already knows about Captain Hess' financial predicament for quite some time! Now I have a little story that will blow yours out of the water!"

Helga's eyes narrowed into slits as she looked at Lydia with contempt and suspicion. She never did care for this pretty little gold digger, the only reason she was even tolerated in their social circle was because of her relationship with Commandant Schmidt.

"Well what are you waiting for? Out with it then, we're just dying to hear what you have to say," Helga said sarcastically.

Lydia paused for a moment, for dramatic affect, and then with the sweetest voice she unleashed the scandal of the decade, "All right, Helga, try this one on for size. It was brought to my attention that our dear Fuehrer is carrying on an affair!"

Helga immediately dismissed her comment with a wave of her chubby little hand, "Oh please, don't insult the intelligence of these women. We all know that the Fuehrer has been unfaithful to Eva many times before. Better luck next time, amateur!"

Lydia waited until the cruel giggles had ceased before delivering the final blow, which would pulverize Helga in the process. "It's not the fact that he's having an affair, it's with whom he is having the affair with! Hitler, it seems has been keeping company with none other than Madame Penelope Mero!"

A collective gasp went up from the women, as Lydia sat in her chair like a queen on a throne in triumph. Mission accomplished, she had managed to trump Helga and beat her at her own game. However, Lydia's victory would be short-lived. At the same moment she had blabbed her secret, no one had taken notice that one more customer had come in to the shop and had seated herself in the back of the crowd while Lydia and Helga were battling it out for supremacy.

Just then the woman in the back, who had been wearing a royal purple hooded cloak that concealed her identity, rose from her seat and walked over to Lydia.

The shrouded woman stopped directly in front of Lydia, then her hands reached up and removed the hood from her head, revealing to all that were present who she was.

Lydia's blue eyes widened when she found herself looking upon the furious face of Eva Braun herself. Lydia gulped as her mouth tried to form an apology, but she wasn't given the chance. Eva had quickly removed one of her black leather gloves and violently struck both of Lydia's cheeks, leaving little red welts on her freshly made up face.

"Next time you'll think twice about who you spread vicious rumors about. If I ever hear about you repeating this story to anyone else, I'll see to it that my brother cuts out your tongue, you miserable little witch!" Eva said scornfully.

Lydia just sat there, dumbfounded, and thoroughly humiliated. She wished that the ground would open up and swallow her. Eva turned to take her leave of this nest of vipers.

She shouted over Ingra before stepping out the front door, "If you want to keep your business, then you better make sure that you don't let that piece of trash back in here. If you don't do as I say, then I will see to it that the doors of the salon never open again! Is that clear?"

Ingra was trembling with fear as she replied, "Yes, Fraulein Braun, I will do as you ask. Please accept my humble apology, but you know that I can't control what my clients say."

Eva just sneered at her then quickly opened the door and stepped through it. Her driver, who had been waiting outside this whole time, was now holding the car door open for her as she climbed inside the backseat of her silver Mercedes Benz.

As the car sped away down the street, Ingra was seething as she turned on Lydia. "Get your things and get out! You almost cost me my business! I don't care who you are sleeping with, if I ever see you in here again, I will call the Gestapo on you myself to have you arrested! Now go!"

Lydia, bowing her head in shame, did as she was told. She quickly scuttled her way past the glaring eyes of the women as she made her way to the front door. Before she stepped outside into the bitter cold of the early winter evening, she heard Helga's voice ring out cruelly as she said, "Good riddance to bad rubbish!"

Eva Braun in the meantime, still sitting on the soft leather seat of her automobile thought to herself that she wasn't quite done with Lydia Rhinehart, not by a long shot.

* * *

Lydia only had an hour to try and put herself together before Schmidt was scheduled to pick her up for the opera. Her make up had been totally ruined as her tears caused her mascara to run. She had caught sight of herself in the reflective surface of a store window, she resembled a deranged raccoon.

Finally she made back to the sanctuary of her apartment where she showered and changed being mindful of Schmidt's request for no underwear. She did her best to duplicate the hair style created by the stylist, but her hair wouldn't stay in place. Giving up, she decided to just wear her hair long and loose. Luckily she found a garnet and diamond encrusted head band that perfectly matched the burgundy color of her dress. Next she repaired her make up, applying concealer on her cheeks in a pathetic attempt to cover up her welts. Maybe Schmidt won't notice, she thought.

Just then she heard the familiar jingle from Schmidt's keys as he unlocked the door to her flat to let himself him. He called out for her as soon as he was inside.

"Lydia, my little _liebchein_, where are you? We need to hurry if we are going to make it in time."

Taking a deep breath, Lydia shouted back, "I'm in the boudoir, my darling."

Lydia was seated at her vanity table putting on the finishing touches to her make up. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she felt Schmidt's presence directly behind her. His placed large masculine hands on her shoulders as he bent down to steal a kiss.

When he removed his mouth from hers, he said, "You look beautiful, perfection has been achieved, stop fussing with yourself or we'll be late!"

Obediently, she rose from her table and allowed Schmidt to wrap her mink stole about her shoulders.

* * *

The Berlin Opera House was filled to maximum capacity. As Schmidt and Lydia were led to their seats in Hitler's balcony, a hush had fallen over all those that observed them in disbelief. Both Schmidt and Lydia smiled smugly, for they knew that they were the envy of German high society.

When they were seated in plush red velvet seats, Lydia looked over to her lover and whispered, "Darling, I never thought to ask but which opera will be watching tonight?"

Schmidt replied dryly, "_Don Giovanni_".

Lydia immediately recognized the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's darkest opera. It was his take on the Faust legend, the man that had sold his soul to the devil in exchange for wealth and youth.

Suddenly the house lights went off, signaling to the audience that the show was about to commence. As the stage curtain went up, the orchestra started to play the opening notes to the lead tenor's aria.

As she watched the first and second act, Lydia suddenly felt ill at ease. She was still reeling from her confrontation with Eva Braun and her expulsion from the _Bon Belle_. She just prayed that Schmidt never found out, or there would be hell to pay.

The intermission came and went without incident. She and Schmidt had sipped on glasses of champagne, as they waited to be let back into the theater for the third and final act.

The third installment of _Don Giovanni_ was the most disturbing and frightening. It was the act when the devil came to collect the soul that had been promised to him. As the baritone that was playing Lucifer sang out in indignation, Lydia suddenly felt Schmidt's hand land firmly on the top of her thigh. Her eyes looked down in time to see his fingers slide down to the bottom hem of her dress. Schmidt was still staring straight ahead, pretending to be interested in the story being acted out on stage.

Lydia inhaled sharply as she felt her lover's fingers creep up her now exposed legs. She didn't move a muscle, afraid that if she did, she might call attention of the other opera patrons. An involuntary moan escaped from her as Schmidt's hand brushed up against her pubic mound. Schmidt smiled wolfishly; he was pleased that Lydia had followed his instructions to the letter. His hand parted her legs so that he could better access her inner creases. His fingers then began to stimulate her furiously.

He was rewarded for his efforts with Lydia's sharp, quick orgasm. He had taken his other hand and clapped it over her mouth to muffle her cries of ecstasy. The fact that she had come so quickly only increased his desire to take her in that balcony. He reached down and unzipped the fly of his trousers and pulled out his penis, and then he grabbed Lydia by her trim waist. Effortlessly lifting off her seat, he impaled her onto his rock hard member.

Lydia's back was to Schmidt, as she faced the stage. He had done this on purpose so that she could continue to view the dark images portrayed in the opera. As the tenor and baritone sang scales of high and low notes, building up to the opera's dramatic climax, Lydia began to ride Schmidt like a woman possessed. Her body bobbed up and down, faster, and faster as the music picked up in tempo. Schmidt had taken his fingers and entwined them in her hair, tugging on it like the reigns on a wild mare.

Schmidt whispered in her ear, "Don't stop my _liebchein_; keep going!"

Lydia had built herself up into a heated frenzy as she felt that another wave of pleasure was threatening to overwhelm her again. She firmly placed her hands on the arms of the chair as she brought her body down hard on Schmidt with total abandon. He in turn placed his hands on her hips as he lifted his buttocks out of his seat slightly to match Lydia's rhythm, thrust for thrust. Then suddenly as grand opus reach its shattering crescendo, Lydia and Schmidt both cried out in complete rapture. As the curtain came down, the audience's applause drowned out the cries and moans of pleasure emanating from the Fuehrer's balcony.

End Chapter Ten


	11. All is fair in Love and War

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix, though I did "borrow" Agent Smith for a little while, until I got a very annoying phone call from two guys claiming to be the Wachowski Brothers. They said something about hauling my big Puerto Rican butt into court if I didn't give him back. So after a tearful good-bye, I sent Smith back home to his creators. Well it was fun while it lasted!

Also, to the creators of the Superman comic, I don't own The Man of Steel either.

_A/N_: This chapter is about Tommy getting a much needed dose of reality. As his attraction to Nova/Teresa grows he slowly begins to realize that she may never return his feelings.

Again, _muchas gracias, _to all of you wonderful people that have taken the time to read and review my story. A special thank you goes out to Akenaten for her encouragement, support and terrific suggestions! Girl, you are an inspiration!

Chapter Eleven

All is fair in Love and War

"Come on, get up! You won't even make it two minutes with a sentient program at the rate you are going!" Teresa barked to her weary opponent with contempt.

"Jesus Christ, woman, what in the hell do think I am, a machine? I can't keep up with you, you're too goddamned fast!" Tommy responded in exasperation.

They had been at it all morning, dueling with each other in the sparring program, and Tommy was still nowhere near the battle-ready condition that Marcel needed him to be. Some messiah, Teresa thought to herself, he can't even go a few rounds with a woman!

Teresa was determined to whip this hapless boy into shape no matter what the cost. The rest of the crew was starting to worry about Tommy's lack of progress in the sparring and Nazi training programs. Teresa knew that Marcel's faith in Tommy was unwavering and steadfast, and she'd be damned if she was going to let this boy prove her captain wrong. He has to be The One, he just has to.

Tommy, his face dripping in perspiration, had been crouching on the _tatami _covered floor of the simulated _dojo_. As he lifted his battered body into an upright position, Teresa was already in her usual fighting stance. Her legs were slightly spread apart, with one delicate bare foot planted firmly in front of the other on the floor beneath her. Her left arm was slightly extended forward, her hand tilted upwards with the middle and index fingers raised gracefully. In her right hand she tightly gripped the handle of a sharp katana sword that had been elevated above her head in a sweeping arc.

She waited impatiently for Tommy to pick up his discarded weapon. Once he did, she said, "_En-guard_ Monsieur Ackerman." Then she came at him with all the fury of a cyclone, spinning and somersaulting her way towards him with sword in hand. With one last rotation of her body, Teresa landed on her feet with feline agility in front of Tommy. She then lifted her blade, preparing to strike him down.

Surprisingly, he managed to thwart her attack with his own sword; steel clashed with steel, creating glimmering sparks. Tommy now was on the offensive as he thrust his weapon and parried Teresa's defensive moves. He had become unrelenting and continued to charge at her like a raging bull, until he had her right where he wanted her. Tommy had backed Teresa up against a wooden partition beam that held up the roof of the _dojo. _With their swords still entwined, Tommy had placed one of his knees between her legs as he leaned forward, pushing her slender frame against the wooden post with his body weight. His free hand had roughly grabbed her other arm and twisted it behind her back. She had been rendered immobile. Try to wiggle your way out of this one, Miss Kitty, Tommy thought triumphantly. Their faces were now inches away from each other. Teresa was glistening with sweat; her long hair was damp and sticking to the sides of her flushed face as she panted uncontrollably. Her cerulean eyes locked on Tommy's trying to read his next move.

Tommy was also trying to catch his breath, he was exhausted. However, he didn't want to let on that he was ready to drop like a sack potatoes. It had been countless times that he had looked like a weakling in her eyes. After so many months of trying to beat her in the sparring program he was going to finally have the chance show her just what he was made of. His brown almond shaped eyes stared down at her, loosing himself in her azure gaze. Then without warning Tommy hungrily captured Teresa's lips with an all consuming kiss. His tongue traced the outline of her full pouting lips, and then he started to lick her clenched teeth, trying to gain access into the delicious inner recesses of her mouth. God, I've been dying to do this for so long, he thought.

Much to his surprise and delight, a small groan had emanated from Teresa. She had not put up any resistance to his attentions; in fact her mouth had blossomed underneath his and allowing his tongue to seek hers out. Tommy's passion was building as he deepened the kiss. He had wanted Teresa from the first moment he had laid his eyes on her. He had dreamt of kissing her, of being with her so often he couldn't even see straight. Now, here they were just as he had fantasized so many times, mouth to mouth, skin against skin.

Although he was fully aware that the kiss they were sharing wasn't real, it sure as hell _felt_ as real as anything he had ever experienced. At this moment he didn't care, Teresa had surrendered her beautiful mouth to him and that's all that mattered. Besides, he'd take what he whatever he could get, be it in the false reality of a training program, or hopefully very soon the private confines of his quarters.

Teresa in the meantime, was taking full advantage of the moment by distracting Tommy long enough to try to free her imprisoned her hand from behind her back. In her former life she had learned the hard way to feign desire, passion and even love if the price was right. She had honed her skills well, and knew the right way to kiss, touch and please a man without partaking in any of the joy her customer experienced with her. She'd put on a good show for her client's sake, making whatever man she took to bed believe that she had been completely satisfied by their pathetic attempts at lovemaking.

Teresa would pant and moan, then fake an orgasm or two by screaming like a banshee. When she did that, she found that her johns had been more than generous. Some of them even claimed to be in love with her and had promised her the world. Teresa was jaded however and never believed that any man willing to pay for sex could be capable of love. She had given up on the notion of love and romance long ago, until Marcel entered her life, forever altering it for the better. Marcel was only one man she would give her heart to but unfortunately he loved her mother.

Teresa was finally able to remove her hand from behind her back. She now brought that hand up to Tommy's hairless chest, stroking his pectoral muscles. The soft touch from her delicate fingers caused his nipples to stand at attention. Tommy slowly moved his lips away from hers and started to kiss and lick her long neck, reveling in the salty taste of her skin. Leaving a hot trail of soft wet kisses on her neck, he made it all the way up to her ear. Tommy took her lobe between his teeth, tugging at it gently. Another moan escaped from Teresa as her hand started to travel down his chest towards his well defined abdomen. She playfully penetrated the tip of her finger into his navel before continuing her descent towards Tommy's pelvic region.

Tommy inhaled sharply as he felt her hand brush against the thin fabric of his pants that encased his manhood. He moved his head away from the warmth of her neck, wanting to look into her eyes, to drown in the vast ocean of her azure gaze as she touched him. He tossed the swords down on the floor. They made loud clanking sound as they landed on the matted surface.

Teresa smiled, basking in the knowledge she had dominated this boy with nothing but her feminine wiles. He was putty in her experienced hands. She slowly snaked her hand into the front of his elastic-waisted pants, as Tommy closed his eyes in anticipation of the pleasure that was to come. As expected, Tommy felt the first soft strokes from her hand on his rigid member, causing him to groan blissfully. He was too lost in his own rapture to notice that Teresa had stopped fondling him and had placed her hand firmly on his scrotum. With one violent move, she roughly grabbed Tommy's testicles, giving his sack a good hard yank. He cried out in pain and indignation, his hands clutched his injured genitalia as his knees hit the floor.

Tommy wailed, "How could you do that? That's not fair; all I did was kiss you!"

Smiling sweetly, Teresa responded as she looked down at his writhing form, "Ah, _cheri,_ all is fair in love and war. Besides, you're not going to beat the enemy by slobbering all over them!"

Tommy was now furious, "Slobbering, slobbering, what in the hell do mean by slobbering? I'll have you know where I come from I'm known to be a great kisser!" He had rolled his body up into a tight fetal position, rocking back and forth; waiting for the pain in his nether regions to subside.

Teresa retorted, "Well when all you have are farm animals to practice with, what do you expect? You Americans have no idea what to do with your tongues! We French invented the art of the sensuous kiss. If you call what you just did to me a great kiss, then American women are not very picky or they are very stupid!"

Tommy had got himself back on his feet and towering over Teresa he asked angrily, "Why do you have to be such a bitch? What the fuck did I ever do to you? Ever since I got here, you've given me nothing but a hard time and I want to know why!"

Teresa turned her back to him. She couldn't face him. How could she tell Tommy that everything that she believed in, and fought for was on hinging on Marcel's belief that this boy is the Savior of humanity? Something inside her screamed that this did not feel right. If he was truly The One, then Tommy's abilities would have been evident from the first moment he started his training. The only thing that he seemed to excel at was the uncanny way that he could read the complex codes of the Matrix. His other skills were mediocre at best.

Teresa suddenly called out, "Sandman, get us out of here, we're through for today."

Closing her eyes, she prepared her mind to be transported to back to the bridge of the Morpheus.

* * *

Teresa had not been the only one that had noticed the lackluster performance of the would-be messiah. Athena, the ship's medic, had voiced her concerns to Marcel as did Thor and Hermes. They had all approached their commanding officer and told him that although Tommy exhibited extraordinary talent in code breaking, he just was not what they had hoped he'd be. If he were to go back into the Matrix, he would be a liability. His presence would seriously jeopardize any mission that he was assigned to and he could endanger the lives of his comrades. 

Marcel had calmly listened to their grievances with the patience of a father, but he remained true to his faith and conviction that Ophelia had been right and he had indeed found The One. He strongly believed that Tommy had not freed his mind enough to allow him to come into his abilities fully. He just needed some incentive, something to fight for and believe in and his beautiful stepdaughter was just what the doctor ordered.

Captain Marcel had taken notice of how many times he had caught Tommy stealing glances over at Teresa. The boy was always trying to impress her with his feeble attempts at humor. Tommy would always be the first person to arrive in the mess hall at every meal so that he could sit next to Teresa and try to talk to her, but she didn't seem the bit interested in what he had to say.

Marcel felt sorry for him. The boy was trying to so hard to fit in since his abrupt arrival on his ship. He had even taken the news of the conflict with Machines and humanity's symbiotic relationship with their mechanical overlords pretty well. However, when Marcel finally revealed to Tommy that he was believed to the prophesized deliverer of the human race, it took some convincing on his part in conjunction with Ophelia's input before the boy could accept his destiny. He approached his training diligently and spent hours in the simulated reality of the training programs.

Tommy had also become quite useful to the Sandman and assisted him with his duties as ship's Operator when the rest of the crew was in the Matrix. The Sandman was simply in awe at how fast and accurately Tommy could decipher the Matrix code, especially if the crew found themselves in danger. He could scan maps, blueprints and building plans at the speed of light and direct the away team to the nearest exit safely.

However his code breaking skills could not help him in the sparring program. He had clocked in hundreds of man hours, fighting with simulated combatants or with some of the members of The Morpheus' crew. The only person that had not participated in any of the programs was Captain Marcel. The crew was certain that he must have had his reason why he chose not to take a more hands-on role in Tommy's combat training, so no one questioned him. Tommy had learned the basic mechanics of every martial art known to man, and even moved quite gracefully as he practiced his moves on his own. On the other hand, when he was faced with an adversary, his body would tense up as he clumsily failed to overpower an opponent. Marcel attributed Tommy's problem to be performance anxiety, something akin to stage fright.

* * *

One night while speaking to his wife, Marie in their quarters, Marcel discussed his plan to help Tommy get over his fears and embrace his powers of being The One. 

"I think that I should take a more proactive role in Tommy's training. Teresa, I'm afraid has gone as far as she can go with him. Tomorrow, I will enter the sparring program instead of her," stated the ship's captain.

His wife responded with concern in her voice, "Marcel, are sure you are not just wasting your time with this boy? I know that you believe him to be The One, but something about him just doesn't ring true."

Marcel's dark eyes widened in surprise at the words spoken by his spouse, he cherished Marie above all others and valued her opinions greatly. He had attributed his crews' uneasiness towards Tommy as a lack of faith in the Prophecy. Marcel was somewhat disappointed in his comrades' small mindedness. If they truly believed, then their fears would be unfounded. However, now his own wife was mirroring the crews' anxiety. If there was anyone that had deeply shared his beliefs, it had been Marie. He wondered why she would have had a sudden change of heart.

"Marie, my love, please don't tell me you doubt me too? I need you to believe in me and my judgment. If I don't have your faith and trust, then I don't have anything."

Marie approached her husband and placed a small, soft hand on his copper-toned face. She stared deeply into Marcel's dark eyes, trying to reassure him.

"I have not lost my faith in you, husband, I would follow you to the ends of the earth. I love you with every fiber of my being and I will gladly spend the rest of my days by your side fighting against anything the Machines throw at us."

Marcel gave his wife a grateful smile; his heart was full of love for her. Having her in his life made his harsh existence in the desert of the Real, more bearable. She had sacrificed so much to be with him, he couldn't even begin to repay her for all of the years of happiness she had given him.

Marie lowered her hand from Marcel's face then slipped her arms around his waist as she laid her head on his well muscled chest. Marcel returned the embrace as he wrapped his brawny arms around her slender form, holding his wife tightly against him. He placed a gentle kiss on top her head as he whispered, "I love you too. I need you to tell me why you believe that Tommy may not be who I think he is."

Marie sighed against her husband's chest. Lifting her head, she raised her cerulean eyes to Marcel's waiting gaze. She could see the agonizing worry in his onyx orbs and it broke her heart, but she had to speak her mind before it was too late. Breaking free from their embrace, Marie sat down at the edge of the bunk they shared. Her shoulders slumped forward in anguish as she placed her hands in her lap.

Marie held her head down, wishing not to meet his penetrating stare. She cleared her throat then started to speak, "Marcel, there is something that you need to know. Long ago when I met the Seer for the first time, she said something that did not make sense to me until now. Ophelia said that I would be the person that would lead you to The One. She also told me that I would be able to recognize who this person was, not with my eyes, but with my heart."

Marcel was perplexed; he could not understand why Marie had not shared this information with him before now. However, not wanting to place any undue pressure on his wife, he waited patiently for her to continue.

Marie finally raised her head to look at her husband; tears had filled her eyes. The look on his face was tearing her up inside, she couldn't bear to see him suffer, and it was killing her that she was the cause of his distress. Still, she pressed on, wanting to get everything she felt out in the open.

"Marcel, my love, I know this may sound strange to you, but I just don't feel that Tommy is The One. You must see that, don't you? He isn't doing well in the training programs is he? Hell, I can even beat him! I've even heard that Teresa isn't fighting at her full potential, she's holding back trying to give him a chance to develop his skills."

Captain Marcel, who had always been a pillar of strength, a man that had unflinchingly looked upon the face of Death itself, had been rendered speechless by his wife's revelations. He shook his bald head in disbelief. The truth was staring back at him in the face, though he refused to see it.

The Seer had told him that he would find The One. Everything that Ophelia has seen before had come to pass. Although the soothsayer had not directly proclaimed that Tommy was The One, she had told Marcel that the boy was crucial to the war effort, and had insisted that he be found immediately. Tommy just had to be The One, the Seer couldn't be wrong.

Maybe Marie had misinterpreted what Ophelia had told her, he thought hopefully. Yes, that's it, she simply had misunderstood. Marie had been a bundle of nerves on that day, the fact that she had just learned about the Matrix, coupled her former husband's involvement with the Nazi's could have confused her. In addition, she had been forced to leave her only child behind; this could have caused her not to think clearly.

Marcel sat next to his wife and placed a protective arm upon her fragile shoulders. She had been weeping openly. Tears were running down her pallid face. Despite the fact that Marie's disclosure was shattering the very foundations of his beliefs; he couldn't stop himself from trying to comfort her.

Placing his index finger under her chin, he lifted Marie's face toward his. His full lips made gentle contact with hers. After ending the tender kiss, Marcel caressed Marie's tear soaked face.

"Hush, my love, please don't cry. Tomorrow morning when I go into the training program I promise you Tommy will give everyone a demonstration of the powers that I know are lying dormant inside him.

He just needs someone to guide him properly. No offense to Teresa, she's an excellent warrior, disciplined and fierce, but she lacks patience. I, on the other hand, am willing to go the distance with Tommy. I also think that being in the sparring program with your daughter is not helping him considering how he feels about her."

Marie suddenly looked up at her husband with bleary eyes, "You mean to tell me that –".

Marcel finished her sentence for her, "Tommy is in love with Teresa. I noticed it from the very beginning of his new life here with us. I can't say that I blame him; the women in your family seem to bewitch the men they come in contact with. I know that was true in my case." Marcel planted another kiss on her lips, gently at first, but soon the familiar heat began to build between them causing him to consume her mouth passionately, urgently.

A wave of relief washed over Marie as she returned her husband's kisses with fervor. Maybe what Marcel had said was true. If Tommy was indeed in love with her daughter, that could explain his faltering and dismal failure in the training construct. Tommy's feelings for Teresa were getting in the way of his preparation to become the man he was born to be, The One. Marcel was right; Teresa was a distraction to the boy.

Marie felt that her body was being pushed back onto the lumpy mattress of the bunk as Marcel's hands had found their way underneath the woolen material of her tattered sweater. She sighed in contentment as her husband's fingers slid up her shivering body. When his hands finally found the soft slopes of her full breasts, he noticed that the nipples were already two stiff sensitive peaks.

He needed no further coaxing. He tenderly lifted her back off the bed and proceeded to slowly remove Marie's top, leaving her lovely torso bare. Laying her back down onto the bunk, Marcel quickly lowered his head towards an achingly erect nipple. He lovingly kissed the sensitive tip of her breast then softly began to lick it with his hot, wet tongue. Marie arched her back as her moist nipple was taken fully into the mouth of her lover. Her hands had started to grab fistfuls of the threadbare blanket that covered the bed as Marcel kissed his way to her another waiting nipple to give it the same attention he had given its twin.

Marcel had been suckling Marie's breasts for what seemed an eternity, her desire building to a fever pitch. She felt his mouth leave her chest as Marcel blazed a trail of kisses down her flat stomach ending at the waist band of her pants. He began to tug at her slacks in an attempt to get them off. Marie assisted him by lifting the lower half of her body off the bed slightly to allow the garment to be removed more easily. As her trousers hit the floor, Marie laid completely and unashamedly naked before her husband. His hungry eyes raked over her beautiful body with an unabashed craving to possess her completely.

He gently parted her legs with his strong but delicate hands, his fingers stroking the inside of her thighs. Marie closed her eyes as she surrendered herself to the sensations that Marcel was causing her body to feel. Marcel had placed himself in between her legs; his mouth ached with an overwhelming need to taste his beloved. He lowered his body, lying flat on his stomach, kissing her inner thighs before bringing his eager lips down on her glistening Venus mound.

His strong tongue began to delicately lick the outer folds of her vagina, then when he was certain she was ready, he plunged his tongue deeply into her warm opening. Marie cried out as she lifted her curvaceous hips off the mattress. She started to shove her pelvis into Marcel's face, wanting him to take her fully into his mouth. Picking up her cue, he scooped up her taut derrière with his strong hands as he slipped his tongue out of her slit then started to lick and suck her swollen clitoris voraciously.

Marie was moaning with abandon, not caring who heard her. Then she began to demand rather loudly that her lover suck her harder, faster. Marcel was more than happy to comply as he doubled the efforts of his working mouth. Marie's legs began to tremble, as she continue to thrust her vagina into Marcel's oral cavity, her orgasm was imminent. Her breathing had become ragged and shallow as Marcel continued to orally pleasure her with gusto. His mouth devoured her womanhood in much the same way he would a luscious sweet fruit. Just when she thought that her body could not take anymore of the delicious torment that Marcel was giving her, her body began to convulse. She threw her head back and with a final savage thrust, she exploded into her husband's mouth as she cried out his name in ecstasy.

* * *

The next morning an eager Tommy arrived early as usual onto the bridge of the Morpheus, ready to be loaded up into the sparring program. To his surprise and disappointment, Teresa was not there to meet him as he had hoped. Instead he was greeted by the stern and pensive face of his captain. 

"Good morning, Tommy. I trust that you have had your breakfast," Marcel addressed him cordially.

Tommy nodded then asked his superior officer, "Where's Teresa?"

Marcel responded, "My second in command is taking some time off, on my orders. She was long over due for some R and R, and besides, I believe we need to shake things up a bit with your training."

Tommy was at a loss. He had plenty of time to think about his last training session with Teresa and he had made his mind up that no matter what she did, he was not going to falter, he would prevail and show her once and for all that he was every bit a man, _the_ man, The One.

Now, with Marcel standing before him, his dreams of overpowering the First Officer and hopefully having his way with her were dashed. Damn, can't a guy catch a break around here, he thought ruefully to himself. He looked over to his captain and asked the question that he already knew the answer to.

"Who will be training me today?"

"I have decided that _I_ will be your instructor, your guide if you will, for the remainder of your training. I think it best that you have no further distractions if you are to be awaken fully, free your mind at last and unleash the powers of The One."

Distractions, what the fuck does he mean by that, Tommy wondered worriedly. Then if dawned on him, Oh, Jesus, Teresa must have told him what happened between us, great, just fucking great! Teresa probably doesn't want to see me anymore. Why would she? She thinks that I'm some backwards country bumpkin that can't fight his way out of wet paper bag and to make matters worse she thinks I'm a lousy kisser. She probably told her stepfather that I tried to take advantage of her, now here he is, ready to kick my sorry ass.

Tommy cast a wary sideways glance over at Marcel. Drooping his shoulders, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets his brown eyes were downcast. Both men remained silent for a moment until the quiet was disturbed by the rather thunderous arrival of the ship's Operator, the Sandman.

The Sandman had taken his post at his console; his hazel eyes were bright and alert as a result of a good night's sleep. He rubbed his hands together. He then interlaced his long dexterous fingers, stretching his hands in front of him, to give his digits a good sound crack before placing them on one of the keyboards. Tommy had observed the Operator's morning ritual for months and he couldn't help but smile to himself, the Sandman approached his workstation much like a concert pianist advanced on his instrument.

The Sandman looked up from his base of operations to address his captain, "Good morning sir, I understand that you will be taking over for Nova in the training sessions with young Tommy here?"

Marcel straightened his posture to bring himself to his full height, clasped his hands behind his back in a commanding pose as he responded to the Operator, "You understood correctly, Sandman. You will take us through the full range of _all_ of the training programs."

"All of them, sir, including the Jump Program?" the Sandman inquired.

"Did I stutter, Operator? When I said all of them, it includes the Jump Program, have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir. Do you wish me to load the Jump Program now?"

Marcel responded with an imperial tone in voice, "Yes, load us up, Operator."

Without another word spoken, Tommy and Marcel each sat themselves into a waiting chair. The Sandman strapped them in tight, uploaded the requested program then slipped the metal spikes into the gaping ports in the back of their skulls.

Almost immediately Tommy felt his mind being transported into the virtual reality of the training module. His eyes flew open as a gust of wind assaulted his face. He suddenly found himself in familiar surroundings, he knew this place. Oh my God, it can't be, he thought with amazement.

He found that he was standing on what appeared to be the observation deck of the Empire State Building in New York City. He remembered actually standing on this very floor when he had been taken here by his parents as a young child. He could still clearly see his father, Thomas Sr., taking out a shiny silver nickel out of his pocket and placing it into his eager little hand so that he chuck it into the slot of the magnifying viewer.

Tommy shook his head sadly, suddenly realizing that the memories of his childhood, his entire life even, had been nothing more than illusion, an elaborate hoax carried out by a race of monstrous machines.

Marcel, who was standing right next to him, took notice of Tommy's reflective state and asked, "What are you thinking of at this very moment? Could it be that you still can't believe how all of this could not be real? Or perhaps this place reminds you of a life that never was?"

That last question struck a nerve, Tommy angrily turned on his captain as he responded gruffly, "Look, I know that the fucking Machines lied to me all of my life, I don't need you to constantly remind me, o.k.?"

Although Marcel's eyes were shielded by the reflective lenses of his dark sunglasses, Tommy could still feel his piercing glare. He sometimes resented the fact that Marcel was so intuitive and could read him like a book. Tommy had felt ever since he had made his choice to be unplugged from the Matrix, his life was no longer his own. He never knew a moment's peace. Now that he was bound to fulfill the Prophecy, he became totally immersed in the strange dogma of the Real World. Tommy sensed that Marcel and the others looked to him as some kind of savior, a deliverer of some sort. If he remembered his Sunday school lessons correctly, Tommy would be the equivalent of Moses or dare he think it, Jesus Christ Himself.

At first, he thought Marcel's proclamation of Tommy being The One, was just the nonsensical rantings of a madman, but the more he learned about the war and the downfall of humanity he slowly began to accept the true nature of new world that surrounded him. However, it wasn't until he had seen the Seer that he embraced his destiny as a modern-day messiah. Ophelia had not directly told him that he was The One, but Tommy thought that he was intelligent enough to read between the lines of the Seer's cryptic message.

* * *

_Ophelia's dark eyes had surveyed the young man that stood before her. He is quite handsome, she thought to herself. She sighed audibly as she said to him, "If I were only forty years younger, you and I might have hit it off. I was quite a looker in those days, you know. I was the Creole Queen of New Orleans; I had both black and white men wanting to keep company with me. Alas, those days are long behind me and all I have left are some happy memories to keep me warm on a cold winter's night."_

_Tommy had blushed, slightly embarrassed by the older woman's obvious flirting. She's old enough to be my grandmother, he thought shockingly._

_Ophelia continued to appraise him as she slowly walked around him, taking him all in. When she was satisfied with what she saw, she stopped directly in front him. Her winkled face grimaced at the sight of his dark glasses, she never did like the fact that the rebels' eyes were always covered up. How was she to gauge the true reactions to her revelations if she couldn't see the eyes of a potential? After all, the eyes are the window to the soul, where the purity and truth of a person could be found, she mused. _

_She reached her hand up and swiftly removed the offending lenses off of Tommy's bewildered face. "There, that's much better. Now I can see into those soft chocolate eyes of yours. You do have pretty eyes, but you already know that, don't you?"_

_Again, Tommy's once pallid complexion turned to a crimson hue. He shifted his weight from one leg to other; he was starting to feel uncomfortable being in the presence of this probing woman. _

_As if she had read his mind Ophelia suddenly announced, "Don't worry, Tommy, I won't keep you any longer than I have to. I know that you're anxious to get back to your ship, back to _her_."_

"_I don't know what you're talking about." Tommy said defensively._

_Arching an eyebrow, Ophelia countered, "Oh, no? Boy, I may have been born at night, but I wasn't born last night! You're in love, you don't have be a fortune teller to see it, it's written all over your face. The question is does she love you?"_

_Tommy frustrated with this line of questioning, snapped, "Don't you know? Surely, you must know if someone loves me or not? You are the all knowing and powerful Seer after all!"_

_Unfazed by his disrespectful remark Ophelia just smiled then said, "I only know what I need to know, what I must know in order to help you win this war. Tommy, I know that you love Nova, pardon me, Teresa very much. I am actually counting on that love to bring her around and hopefully put her on the right path towards victory. _

_You must join forces with her. Only your combined strength will be able to defeat our enemies here and in the Real World. Zion's survival depends on you both. Remember, Tommy, the path of The One is paved by the many. The One needs and must rely on the help of everyone if we are all going to live through the horror."_

_Tommy was a bit mystified. What did the Seer mean by him and Teresa "joining forces"? Was Teresa somehow connected to the path of The One? Marcel had vehemently told him that he alone was destined to be the deliverer, the chosen One that would lead mankind out of virtual bondage, but not once did he mention Teresa's role in all of this._

_Before he could verbalize his questions Sapphire had walked into the kitchen. Her presence indicated to Tommy that his time with the Seer was up. Before he had a chance to turn around to leave, the Seer picked up the daisy pattern plate that contained a dozen warm oatmeal raisin cookies. Raising the plate towards his nose, Tommy couldn't help but smell the freshly baked aroma._

"_Go ahead, take one, I baked them especially for you," Ophelia said graciously._

_Tommy quickly picked up a cookie, then without thinking took a big bite out of it. This action had brought a smile upon Ophelia's face. Just then Tommy could almost see the youthful beauty that had once been hers in that bright smile; it had lit up her whole face. He was somehow comforted by her grin; it was somehow telling him that everything was going to be all right. As he slowly continued to eat his cookie, he started to feel his doubts and fears dissipate, dissolve into nothing. All that remained was reassurance and hope. _

Tommy was now convinced that if was going to become The One, he would need Teresa by his side to achieve his transformation. As he turned around to leave the Seer called out behind him and reminded him once more, "Remember, Tommy, the path of The One, is paved by the many."

* * *

As another blast of wind whipped through his hair, Tommy's thoughts were forced back into the present, as he continued to stand on the simulated concrete floor of one of the tallest buildings in New York City's skyline. Just a few city blocks away his eyes could make out the golden steeple of the Chrysler Building. The needle like point of the edifice's tower was adorned by four eagle's heads, each facing in the direction of the Four Winds, North, South, East and West. 

Marcel's thunderous voice boomed out over the whistling wind, "Tommy, I know that you have been through this program before, although it was in a different setting. It was Paris, the Eiffel Tower, if memory serves."

Tommy nodded silently in agreement. Marcel continued, "I felt that you might have a better chance of success if you were in a familiar environment. I remembered you telling me once during your recovery period, that you had some fond memories of this metropolis when you were a child. I also recall you telling the Sandman about your love of comic books, particularly the one called _Superman_".

Tommy again shook his head in affirmation, but still he remained quiet.

"Well, Tommy, today you will discover that you and _Superman _have a lot in common, there is no limit to what you are capable of doing, but only if you allow your mind to break free of constraints that have imprisoned it for so long. Today, you _will _fly!"

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the Real World, the rest of the crew had stirred from their slumber preparing themselves to partake of the bounty that was their morning ration of the single celled protein. They had all sat in silence in the mess hall, slurping down their bowls of grog. None of them dared utter single word, but every single one of them were aware of the activities going on above them on the ship's bridge. Marcel and Tommy were in the Jump Program. 

Finally Thor spoke up, "Hey aren't any of you the bit curious as to how our personal Jesus Christ is doing under the tutelage of our illustrious captain?"

Teresa shot him a cold, glacial stare, "That should not be any concern of yours, Thor! Tommy is in good hands, he's training with the best, and I will not have you undermine Captain Marcel's efforts with snide remarks! Have I made myself clear, ensign?"

Thor turned his eyes away from the First Officer's frosty gaze, then mumbled, "Yes, Madame."

"Good. Anyone else wants to be a wise-ass?" she asked sarcastically. When no one responded she then said, "Since you are all a bunch of _Doubting Thomases, _you leave me no choice but to order you to go up to the bridge and see our captain's handiwork for yourselves."

* * *

Tommy was chuckling nervously as he responded to Marcel's ridiculous claims, "You mean to tell me that as The One, I'm going to fly, and be able leap tall storied buildings in a single bound? Bend steel with my bare hands and deflect bullets, you're joking, right?" 

Marcel's expression was stony and humorless, "Do I look like I'm joking? I want you to observe me; I have freed my mind and am able to perform feats thought to be impossible. If I have been able to achieve the unbelievable there is no limit to what you can do!"

With that having been said, Marcel climbed up the metal guard rail that outlined the observation deck of the Empire State Building. The rail had been installed after the 1929 stock market crash, when hundreds of people had jumped off this very building, plummeting to their deaths, after loosing everything they owned. Tommy's eyes widened in fear and amazement as he saw his captain perched on the very edge of the treacherous metal bar. The wind had picked up and was now causing the tail of Marcel's long black leather coat to whip violently behind him, much like a cape.

He cast Tommy one more backwards glance as he said, "Free your mind!"

Then without another word, he leapt off the edge of the building. Tommy screamed out, "Noooo!" as he raced to the look over the very spot where Marcel had taken his leap of faith. What he saw simply dumbfounded him. Instead of finding Marcel in a bloody heap on the ground stories below him, he observed as the captain jumped from rooftop to rooftop of the skyscrapers that lead from the Empire State Building to the Chrysler Building. In one final powerful jump, Marcel had managed to land almost effortlessly on the jutting beak of one of the eagle's heads that surrounded the gleaming peak of the Chrysler Building.

Tommy was absolutely bowled over all he could say was "Whoa!" He could barely make out the figure of a lone man on the top of the Chrysler Building. If this training simulation had been populated by people, they would be just as astonished as he was at the sight of Marcel Dubois playing King of the Mountain with one of the largest manmade summits in the world.

A sinking feeling had started to germinate in the pit of his stomach, for now it was his turn. O.K., I guess this is the part when I go into my _Superman_ act, he mused. If I only had Lois Lane here to give me a kiss for good luck, maybe if I finally get this right, Teresa will be the one showering me with kisses. God only knows that last time I tried this I almost killed myself after landing face first when I jumped off the Eiffel Tower.

Then he said out loud, "All right Marcel, you said to free my mind. Here goes nothing." Tommy then scaled onto the same guard rail that Marcel had climbed moment earlier. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind of all negative thoughts. He kept repeating to himself that this world was not real, he could bend it, change it to his will. Two predominate images occupied his psyche, the first one was Teresa, he would endure anything, take any risk if he could claim her as his own. The second was doctrine that had been instilled into him since his arrival in the Real World, that he was The One.

* * *

The crew of the Morpheus had gathered around the Operator's workstation. They collectively held in their breath, as they watched the monitors, waiting for Tommy to jump off the edge of the building to his death or his destiny. Teresa's eyes were fixated on the monitors more intently than the others. She was looking for signs that Marcel was all right. If anything happened to her captain while he was in the training program she'll skin that boy alive.

* * *

Tommy opened his eyes; he could still see Marcel waving to him in the distance. This is it, Ackerman, it's do or die time, he thought. He then stretched out his arms before him in a pseudo high diver's pose then quickly jumped off the edge the building. At first he panicked as he felt the pull of the artificial gravity dragging him towards pavement below, but then quickly realized that this was _not real_. 

Suddenly he turned his body in mid-air and started to ascend as he was being carried upwards towards the heavens by an invisible force. He was actually flying, floating on the wind. He could hardly believe it! He started soaring higher and higher towards the warmth of the simulated sun. Then he looked down below and marveled at his bird's eye view of the most wonderful city in the world. He could see the East and Hudson Rivers, New York Harbor, and the Statue of Liberty.

Ever since he was a little boy he had dreamed of nothing else. He smiled to himself as he remembered the countless moments when he had tied a tattered old bed sheet around his neck and pretended to fly around like his favorite comic book hero. Now, here he was, Thomas A. Ackerman, actually doing what others can only dream about. He now had the Chrysler Building in his sights. He quickly flew over to where his captain was and retrieved him from his roost high above the city streets. Tommy held on to Marcel tightly as he found an open space of green grass in the middle of Central Park to safely land on.

When both men were securely on the ground, Marcel turned to Tommy, his face beaming with pride. He grasped Tommy's forearms firmly and said, "I knew you could do it! I have faith in you Tommy. I knew it, you _are_ The One!"

* * *

Athena and the Sandman were jumping for joy on the ship's bridge. Thor and Hermes were whooping and hollering at Tommy's success. Strangely the only two crew members that had not joined in the celebration were Teresa and her mother Marie. Both women were a bit cautious about showing any reaction to Tommy finally discovering and embracing his powers. Each had felt that something was still not right. It had been too easy, even for someone that is thought to be The One. Something was wrong, both mother and daughter could sense it like a splinter in their minds. 

End Chapter Eleven


	12. Hell Hath No Fury

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Matrix Trilogy, the Ultimate Matrix Collection or any of the other garish merchandising that will surely greatly increase The Brothers W's already over-bloated bank accounts. I do, however own the idea of this story and all of the original characters.

_A/N:_ Hitler's mistress, Eva Braun, enlists the help of her brother Lt. Braun, in order to carry out her vindictive and vengeful plan against those that have wronged her.

Thank you to my loyal readers, Akenaten, Agent Alexandra Paris, and last but certainly not least, Mystic Kyra. Ladies, I appreciate your gracious input and kind reviews.

Chapter Twelve

Hell Hath No Fury

It was March 18, 1943. The snow that had blanketed most of Berlin, Germany during the bitter winter months was starting to melt, heralding the first signs of spring. Although there was still a bit of a chill in the air, it could not keep the citizens of the German capital from venturing outside after so many months of being indoors to avoid the harsh conditions of the snow and freezing cold.

The sprawling metropolis was slowly starting to show signs of life, with the exception of the Jewish quarter. The Nazi Army had experienced a severe case of cabin fever during the winter season. Out of boredom the commanding officers had decided to amuse themselves by ordering their troops to bring decimation and destruction to the Jews, shedding the blood of innocents in their wake. The neighborhood was now nothing more than a ghost town. The tenements, shops and the now defaced synagogue were only hollow ruins, remnants of a once thriving community. The few glass store fronts that remained untouched from the many riots that were ensued in the Jewish ghetto, depicted unflattering slurs such as "Die Juden Swine".

Devastation, death and horror were unleashed upon countless of innocent Jewish families as the Gestapo, and the SS put Hitler's plan for a "Final Solution" into action just three short months ago.

* * *

_On December 24, 1942, the Hebrew school, once a shining beacon of higher learning and religious enlightenment, had been burned to the ground by the Nazi soldiers that had descended upon the unsuspecting educators and pupils. The teachers had been executed in front of their horrified students. The school's head master, Rabbi Irvin Shulman, who had been an invalid in his latter years confined to a wheel chair, had been pushed out a third story window, meeting his demise when his crippled body hit the hard cold pavement below. The lifeless form Rabbi Shulman, covered in a pool of his own blood had been left out for days next to the smoldering rubble of his precious school._

_His devoted wife, Sheila, and a small group of women had tried to remove the rabbi's carcass from the street in attempt to give him a proper Jewish burial. The women had been confronted by tall, darkly clad figure that had approached them silently like a deadly cobra ready to strike, as Frau Shulman knelt over her dead husband, weeping and beating her chest in grief._

"_Step away from the body," the man growled gutturally._

_Startled, Sheila Shulman had tried to explain to the man, that it was the tradition of her faith that their dead be buried before sundown, so that the soul of the dearly departed could be received properly into heaven. A quick assessment of the man's uniform had told Sheila what she had suspected all along, he wasn't your garden variety Nazi solider. He was an officer in the SS and a high ranking one at that judging from the rank stripes on his coat._

"_I don't care about your religion or your pathetic rituals! I've given you direct orders, woman, now step away from that body!" the officer barked inhumanly._

_Sheila threw herself over her husband's now stiff form protectively and looked defiantly into the cruel steely eyes of the man that had brought annihilation and chaos to her once peaceful town. With great sadness, she had noticed that the sun had begun to set in the west._

_She had then turned her grief stricken face heavenward and said,"Jehovah, God of Abraham, Isaac and Moses, please listen to the prayer of your humble servant and accept the spirit of my husband." She had then closed her eyes and began to recite Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead. As she had continued her litany in earnest, the officer had removed his handgun from its holster. Her green eyes flew open when she felt the sensation of the cold metal of the gun's barrel against her temple. Before she could utter another word, the menacing man in black had quickly pulled the trigger. A bullet was discharged from the gun's chamber, and with sickening crunching sound, it had created a gaping wound on the side of the woman's head. Death had come swiftly for Sheila the moment the bullet lodged itself into her brain. Her lifeless form slumped over her husband's half-frozen cadaver. Her companions had screamed in terror._

_The sinister avenger had then turned his attention to the helpless women that had accompanied the ill-fated Frau Shulman. He had raised his Luger 9mm pistol once more with his finger firmly on the trigger ready to riddle them with bullets. Just then, a young blond girl that had been hiding behind her mother had suddenly come forward. The girl could not have been more than 14 or 15 years old but she had already showed signs of blossoming into a great beauty. _

_Despite the fact that she had been wearing a heavy winter coat, she was still trembling, not from the frosty temperature in the air, but from fear. Still she pressed forward; her heart was pounding in her chest, hoping that she could somehow convince the officer not to harm her. She had wanted to appeal to his humanity, his compassion for his fellow man. However, she had had no knowledge that she was not dealing with a man and that he was not programmed to feel anything but hate for her and her people._

_As his blue eyes fell upon the approaching girl, the officer had been slightly taken aback. She had bore a striking resemblance to his mistress, Lydia Rhinehart. They could be sisters, but that is preposterous, he had thought incredulously, Lydia is of Aryan blood, this girl is nothing more than a filthy little Jew. Still, she is a pretty little thing, he had pondered. If times were different, she would make a fine replacement once Lydia starts to lose her looks and outgrows her usefulness to me. _

"_Please sir, don't kill us, we've done nothing wrong. If you let us go, we promise not to say anything," the girl had pleaded as she had continued to walk towards him. Even though her voice had been shaky with trepidation, its timber had the same musical lilt as Lydia's. _

_Damn, the officer cursed at himself, he had started to feel something that closely resembled pity. This cannot be; it isn't right! I should be able to raise my weapon, aim it and fire at will. This is what I am programmed for, it is my purpose. I am Commandant Schmidt! I was designed to kill, maim and destroy all who oppose me! Why should I feel sympathy for a girl that will only grow up to breed and infest this planet with her diseased offspring?_

_He had shaken his head as if to clear his mind then thought callously, I wouldn't lose any sleep over one less Jew in this world, even if she is a pretty little girl._

_Without another world, he had given the girl a wink then a broad smile that revealed his rather large teeth. The girl returned the smile; she had never looked more beautiful. Her blond curls had been highlighted by the full moon that had risen and shone above them. Her bright blue eyes brimmed with tears of joy and relief, when suddenly a shot had rung out. _

_The girl's body hit the cold, wet ground with a terrible thump. A bullet hole had appeared dead center on the girl's forehead as blood had started to ooze out of it and began to trickle down the side of her face. Her angelic features still displayed a smile, a picture of innocent beauty frozen for all time._

_The girl's anguished mother had cried out her name, "Brigitte, no!" Then she had turned her angry eyes to look upon the face of her daughter's murderer, all she could see was a pair of the coldest eyes she had ever seen in her life. The malevolent, demonic presence of Commandant Schmidt had been the last sight that she would ever see as she too had been shot in the head. The commandant had swiftly killed the two remaining women. _

_Before Schmidt could turn away the glint of something shiny had caught his eye. He had moved in the direction of the young girl's body to investigate the source of the sparkle. Schmidt had knelt down directly in front of her motionless form as his sharp eyes spied a gold chain around her slender neck. He had reached out with two fingers to deftly lift the chain away from the girl. The golden necklace was simple and delicate, unlike the ornate jewels he often gave his mistress in exchange for sexual favors. Hanging from the chain was a single charm, the symbol of the Hebrew faith, the Star of David. Not knowing what had compelled him to do so, he had clasped the chain in his fist and yanked it off the dead girl's body quickly placing it into his coat's pocket. Perhaps he had wanted a souvenir, or a trinket to remember the girl by. She had been such a beautiful creature after all and he did appreciate beauty in all its forms. _

_Commandant Schmidt had risen from his crouching position then had quickly turned to walk away from the victims' bodies, leaving them to rot in the street without a second thought. A gust of arctic wind caused the tail of his charcoal colored woolen coat to billow out behind him, as his shiny black jackboots left a trail of footprints in the bloodied snow._

_Just then, Lt. Braun and Captain Johansen had driven up alongside him in their Jeep. Lt. Braun had called out to his commanding officer, "Sir, we've started rounding up the survivors and readying them for the trip to Dracau. What would like us to do with dead?"_

_Commandant Schmidt looked over to his underling and coldly said, "Burn them, burn them all. The stench of their rotting flesh is making me sick, it's repulsive."_

_Braun and Johansen had acknowledged their commandant's orders and started to carrying them out by setting fire to anyone they saw lying on the ground whether they were dead or not._

* * *

Lt. Leopold Braun sat at a table in one of Berlin's finest restaurants, Le Moulin Blanc, waiting impatiently for his sister, Eva to arrive. The Maitre 'D had seated him almost an hour ago, yet his sibling failed to appear at the appointed time. Damn her, he cursed to himself, it's just like Eva to want to make a grand entrance so that all of the restaurant's patrons can fawn and gawk at her. Doesn't she know that I have important work to do? I don't have all day to sit here and wait for her. There are rebels to be rounded up, interrogated, tortured and shot. 

Just then at the entrance of eating establishment he saw her. He shuddered with revulsion as his eyes fell upon the gaudy outfit she had decided to wear that morning. Her royal purple dress, another import from Marcus Mero's black-market collection, clung much too tightly on her, leaving unsightly bulges in unflattering places. As usual, she wore too much lipstick and rouge and her brown hair was done up into a very unbecoming style. Thank God, she at least wore a hat to cover up that bird's nest she calls a hairdo, her brother thought with disdain.

Then the moment he had been dreading was upon him when he heard her shrilly voice call his name from across the restaurant for all to hear, "Leopold, oh, Leopold, yoo-hoo!" She started to wave her handkerchief in his direction like a misguided sail.

Lt. Braun couldn't help but roll his eyes as he thought to himself, why, oh, why did the Architect saddle me with such a flighty and vain program to be my sister in this incarnation? The next time, I will demand to be an only child.

Finally, his tacky sibling was seated before him, but not before she had a chance to address her adoring public and sign a few autographs.

"Must you constantly make a spectacle of yourself in public?" Braun hissed at Eva from across the table.

Picking up one of the menus that had been placed on the table before her, she responded, "Brother dear, you know that it's not me, the people expect their First Lady to be accessible to them. I must show solidarity with the citizens of the Fatherland. Besides you know as well as I do, the Fuehrer not only expects it, he demands it." She responded, trying to put him at ease.

He regarded his sister with cold pale blue eyes then gave her a quick nod. He had to admit to himself that his sister had proved to be an asset to him. Her relationship with Hitler had helped him move quickly through the ranks, placing on the most elite team in the entire Reich. Only the best of best were able to serve under the most respected, decorated and feared officer in the SS, Commandant Schmidt.

Braun started to relax a bit as he remembered the countless times her sister's consort, Adolf Hitler had given him some of the best assignments, and the cushiest jobs. He also reaped all of the fringe benefits of his sister's clandestine domestic situation.

The Fuehrer was able to obtain certain items such as wine, quality liquor, the finest haberdashery for the ladies and of course liters of French perfume on the black-market via his close personal relationship with the corrupt mayor of Paris, Marcus Mero. All of these items and more were scarce or not even available to the average German citizen no matter what their social status was. Many people had to carry ration cards for even the most basic of necessities such as food and clothing and wait in endless lines to make their meager purchases. In some cases worker's salaries would be garnished 20 or even 30 percent. Hitler's propaganda machine would tell the German public that everyone needed to do their part for the war effort. Germany would be victorious, but only if its people were willing to set aside their own comfort for the greater good.

However, Hitler himself and those closest to him did not have to make any sacrifices for the Fatherland. The German dictator was able to procure precious luxuries and much needed commodities at the Frenchman's asking price. Lt. Braun had noticed that there seemed to be an abundant amount of cash flow all of a sudden within the Third Reich, and no matter how much money the Fuehrer spent on frivolous goods, weapons for the military or building audacious monuments to his own alleged greatness, the National Treasury seemed to be constantly replenished. Being true his programming, Leopold Braun started to search the seemingly endless databanks of the Matrix's mainframe for the source of the funds. It hadn't taken him very long to find what he was looking for. In a top secret file marked "Operation Midas", he stumbled across the reason for the Reich's apparent good fortune.

As he had read the file, he had learned that Hitler with the assistance of Commandant Schmidt and several other high ranking members of the Nazi Party had devised a plan to strip the wealthiest of their victims of their valuables before interning them in the concentration camps. Soldiers would be ordered to ransack homes in search of hidden jewels and cash. Family heirlooms, antiques and silverware would also fall into the greedy hands of the Nazis. Women would be forced to give up their wedding rings, and if they had refused to part with them they were shot. Even in the camps as people died off by the thousands from starvation and disease, the carcasses would be desecrated as the soldiers would sift through the bodies in search of gold fillings in the mouths of the dead.

This information would have turned the stomach of the average person, but Lt. Braun was totally unmoved. Although he did feel a slight admiration at the methodical way the Fuehrer took advantage of every available resource to enrich the Reich. He was very logical, calculating and precise, just like the Architect had programmed him to be. Leopold couldn't have asked for a better partner for his sister.

Although Eva was not married to Hitler, Leopold was still treated like one of the family and privy to his share of some inside information that even his commandant was not aware of, thus, the reason for this meeting between brother and sister.

Eva had approached her brother late last year regarding a certain problem she was having with Hitler and his shameless infidelity with Penelope Mero, that Parisian piece of ass that even he wouldn't mind having a roll in the hay with. His sister had wanted him to find out some damning information about the woman that would enable Eva to blackmail her. She was hoping that the threat of exposing some embarrassing secret would make Madame Mero leave Adolf alone.

She had also wanted Leopold to have Lydia Rhinehart's, Commandant Schmidt's mistress, background investigated. When Leopold had asked her why, she recounted the embarrassing incident at the La Bon Belle beauty salon. He had promised his sister that he would contact her the minute anything turned up. However, he had not much time to search the databanks of Mainframe, due to the activities on Christmas Eve and the processing of the survivors at Dracau. It wasn't until just a few short days ago that he had found the information that his sister so desperately needed to plot out her revenge.

Now, his sister sat across from him, looking like an overstuffed hen, waiting for him to disclose the information she knew he had.

"Well? I'm waiting Leopold. What did you found out about those two sluts?" Eva asked rather loudly.

Her brother whispered harshly, "Must you be so uncouth? Keep your voice down, you wouldn't want everyone to find out that your lover has been unfaithful to you?"

Eva shook her head as she whispered back, "Oh, heavens no! Come now, brother, you've kept me waiting long enough. What do you know?"

Leopold cocked an auburn eyebrow as he looked at his sister, "Well, as for Madame Mero, you can't touch her. She is very well connected and if you were to try blackmail her it would only bring humiliation and dire consequences to the Fatherland."

Eva was intrigued; her eyes were as wide as saucers. Who could that French whore be connected with that was more powerful than her Adolf? Hitler was the most influential man in the world, a force to be reckoned with. He alone had raised a defeated nation out of the smoldering ashes of the First World War and gave its people a sense of identity, a single purpose.

"Don't be ridiculous, Leopold, who could she possibly know that could outclass, and outrank the Fuehrer?"

"Try the Architect," he responded victoriously. The name of the Creator rendered her speechless. He loved it when he could shut her up, even if it was only for a few minutes. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly in a slow smile, his pale blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

Eva just sat in her seat, unblinking, and flabbergasted. Oh my God, the Architect, she thought. Shit, I really can't do anything to her. Taking on a program that was in the old fart's favor would mean certain deletion, a risk I'm not willing to take, no matter how much I hate her.

"On the other hand," her brother drawled on, "Lydia Rhinehart is another matter entirely. She's human, and has a very interesting family history."

Now, were getting somewhere, Eva thought with delight then she said out loud, "Go on, go on. Don't keep me in suspense any longer. Oh, wait, I know, her grandmother was a gypsy! Am I right?"

Lt. Braun paused for dramatic effect before dropping the mother of all bombs on his sister, "You're partially right, my dear sister. It seems that Lydia's maternal grandmother was something even more heinous than a gypsy. She was a Jewess that had converted to Lutheranism in an attempt to hide her true heritage. "

That last sentence hung in the air between them like an odious curse. A Jewess, a Jewess, it was hard to believe given the fact that Lydia was the pin up girl for Aryan perfection. However, if what her brother had told her turned out to be true, then that would mean that Lydia's bloodline was tainted, she was nothing more than a dirty Jew whore masquerading as proper German socialite. The nerve of that girl, the audacity to have dined at the same table with the savior of the Aryan homeland! If Eva had known the truth then, she would have had that little tramp arrested and shot.

Then Eva suddenly looked over at her brother and asked rather anxiously, "Who else knows?"

"No one knows, not even her lover, Commandant Schmidt," he replied as a matter-of-factly.

Just then their regular waiter, Kurt walked up to their table to take their order. Eva was glad to see him now that her appetite had just been awakened. She was suddenly famished and wanted to order everything on the menu.

She smiled sweetly at the waiter and said, "Good morning my dear Kurt! I think I'll start off with the lamp chops, with an extra helping of those delicious parsley potatoes. I'd also like a side of bratwurst and sauerkraut."

The waiter then turned to Lt. Braun, who displayed a look of utter repulsion and disgust at his sister's overt gluttony.

"What can I get for you sir?" Kurt asked politely.

Leopold shot a glance over at the young man and replied coolly, "Nothing, I'm suddenly not hungry."

Kurt shrugged, thanked Eva for her order and made his way into the kitchen. When they were alone again, Eva looked at her brother rather wickedly. She could hardly wait to tell everyone what she now knew about that little gold digger, Lydia. She would give just about anything to put her into one of the cattle cars bound to Dracau herself.

"So Leopold, when will you be arresting that little imposter? You must tell me so that I maybe present. I want to look into her pathetic little face when the Gestapo drags her off to one to camps kicking and screaming!"

"Arrest her? I plan on doing no such thing, Eva," Lt. Braun proclaimed.

Eva angrily rose from her chair, slammed her fists on the table and leaned forward so that her face was only inches away from Leopold's.

"W-what do you mean by not wanting to arrest her? You must! Don't do this to me; I want that bitch to pay for humiliating me! Don't you understand? I want to see her die!" Eva said hysterically.

Lt. Braun sat in his seat completely still, unaffected by his sibling's public display of anger. He then raised the index finger of his right hand and wagged it in her face as he said, "Temper, temper, sister dear, you must learn to control yourself. Now, if you have finished your tantrum, please sit down and I will tell you of my plan that will not only allow Lydia Rhinehart to get her just desserts, but will elevate me into a much more important position within the SS."

Slowly, Eva Braun sat herself back down into her seat, trying her best to ignore the murmuring from the curious onlookers in the restaurant. The other patrons' interests were heightened by her sudden outburst. Eva composed herself and tried to put on her best lady like airs, but inside she was fuming, bubbling and churning like a volcano ready to erupt. She placed her hands on the table and primly folded them together.

Casting a distrustful glance at her brother, she begrudgingly relented as she said, "Alright, Leopold, tell me about your bloody plan."

Lt. Braun straightened up in his chair, leaned over the table towards his sister and began to tell her of his very well thought out, clever and very wicked scheme. A deliberate, malevolent smile began to spread across Eva's lips as she continued to listen to what her sibling had to say.

Just you wait Lydia Rhinehart; she thought to herself with an ever growing hatred, I will have my revenge. You have no idea the enemy you've made of me. I've bided my time, given you a false sense of security. You were probably hoping against hope that I would have forgotten about your spiteful remarks. You will soon learn however, as will Adolf and everyone else that has wronged me that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

* * *

Commandant Schmidt was sitting at his desk rushing to get his paperwork done. He hated being bogged down with the tedious task of filling out reports, but the Mainframe required them by 18:00 hours, so he tried to complete the mundane chore as expeditiously as he could. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, it read 15:00 hours, if he continued at his current pace, he could have those all important reports done and transmitted to the Mainframe within an hour's time. 

He could then get to Lydia's apartment and into _her_ before taking her out to dinner that evening. He detested having to keep up appearances that he was still courting her. Everyone knew that she was his mistress in every sense of the word, but Lydia had insisted on being taken out almost every night of the week. Oh well, he thought, she's the fuck of the century and for that ass I'm willing to do just about anything even if it means having to go out to a crowded restaurant and listen to her prattle on about her pathetic little life.

Shit, he thought, there I go again, thinking about that stupid, vain, and materialistic woman. I need to get this obsession under control; the Mainframe is already questioning my efficiency ratios. If it wasn't for the fact that I am exceeding the death camp quotas, my career would be in serious jeopardy. It's that entire bitch's fault! God, how I hate her! Why can't I stop wanting her so much? She just a human, nothing more!

Then he groaned loudly as he began to think about her full, voluptuous body writhing under his. Feeling the familiar sensation of his large member stirring within the confines of his pants, he absentmindedly brought his hand down to his crotch. Then suddenly the door to his office was flung open. Commandant Schmidt was caught off guard as he was wrenched out of his sexual reverie by the abrupt and unexpected arrival of Lt. Braun in his office.

The lieutenant, not brothering to close the door behind him, saluted his superior and said, "Heil Hitler, Commandant."

Schmidt, having composed himself somewhat, did not rise from his chair. He was still in a state of semi-arousal and did want his underling to see him in such a predicament. As he remained seated, he returned Lt. Braun's salute brusquely then angrily asked him, "What is the meaning of this Lieutenant? How dare you burst into my office unannounced?"

Lt. Braun lowered his arm slowly and looked straight ahead as he responded, "I'm sorry sir, but some pertinent information has just come to my attention. It seems that someone with very close ties to the Party has been concealing their true identity. If this data were to get out, it could seriously put the Reich in great peril."

Schmidt's eyes narrowed into two steely slits as he eyed his subordinate suspiciously. He never did trust Braun, but he kept him around for two major reasons: One, he was exceedingly good at what he did. Two, he was Eva's brother. He also knew that the young lieutenant was ambitious and his thirst for power was unquenchable. Schmidt had always been vigilant where Braun was concerned, ever mindful that if left unchecked, Braun would soon amass enough power and influence to try to supplant him one day.

"Alright Braun, I'll take the bait. I assume you have proof of this person's duplicitous actives, because if you don't, you know the consequences for wasting my time," Schmidt stated with a tone of malevolence in his deep voice.

The young lieutenant did not falter; he met his commanding officer's icy stare as he responded in kind, "Don't worry Commandant, I have all the proof you'll ever require." A hint of a smile played on his lips briefly before his face returned to its usual deadpan expression. He then reached into his black leather satchel and retrieved a manila file folder which contained the incriminating evidence. Braun placed the folder on the desk top, dead center, in front of Schmidt. At first, Schmidt regarded the folder with casual disinterest, until his eyes read the name on the tab of the file: Lydia Rhinehart.

Schmidt remained impassive, but Braun's sensory perception detected a slight twitch in the commandant's left eye. Schmidt was trying his best to mask the sense of immediate alarm his was starting to feel, but Braun knew better. Placing his hand on the folder, Commandant Schmidt cautiously opened it to reveal its contents. His already pale face, turned into an even more ashen tinge as his deep blue eyes scanned over the telling documents.

Lt. Braun, not being able to conceal his self-righteousness, calmly asked his superior, "Interesting reading, is it not, Herr Commandant?"

Schmidt looked up from the offending papers to meet the self-assured gaze of his subordinate. His response was slow as he carefully chose his words, "How long have know about this, Lieutenant?"

Braun smirked as he replied, "Oh, for a few days. However, what surprises me, Commandant, is how such a powerful and an inquisitive program such as yourself, could have let something of such great significance get past you."

Schmidt was seething underneath his deceptively unruffled veneer, yet he allowed Braun to continue his speech, "Then again, with the amount of time you've spent fornicating with Fraulein Rhinehart, I could see how you've become distracted. She is quite the piece of ass, even if she is a Jewess."

The veins on the commandant's broad forehead started to pulsate as his anger increased. He wanted nothing more than to lunge at Braun and tear him apart savagely with his bare hands. He knew of course that such a thing was not possible; the little bastard was well protected and too many questions would be raised if Braun were to suddenly go missing.

He regarded the lieutenant with contempt, then he spat out, "What do you want, you son of a bitch? Name your price." He knew perfectly well that Braun would not have brought this information directly to him if he had any intention of turning Lydia in to the proper authorities. Lt. Braun had finally proven to Schmidt what he had suspected all along, the younger program's ambitions knew no bounds, and he would resort to any means achieve his goals, even blackmail a superior officer.

Lt. Braun brought his hand up to his face to rub at his chin, pretending to contemplate his next answer before he made his declaration, "I want to be promoted to the rank of Commandant Second Class."

Schmidt's azure eyes widened with astonishment at the ludicrous request, since it would be next to impossible to promote Braun to such a high rank. Besides, Captain Johansen was next in line to receive that promotion. If Braun was moved up into that position he would answer to no one and wield as much authority as Schmidt. What Braun was asking Schmidt to do would go against all military protocol, and Johansen would be furious if he were passed over in favor of an underling.

"What if I refuse?" Schmidt asked.

Braun shrugged his shoulders as he responded nonchalantly, "Suit yourself, but know this, I'll be having dinner with my sister and the Fuehrer tonight. I'm sure that Hitler would find the topic of after dinner conversation more than enlightening. I would hate to see an illustrious career such as yours go down in flames. However, if you give me what I want, you can keep up your dalliance with your Jew whore, and keep yourself from being deleted."

Schmidt was speechless. He was put between a rock and hard place. His processors quickly ran through all of his subroutines in an attempt to come up with an alternate solution to his dilemma, but he always arrived at the inevitable conclusion, he would have to submit to Braun's demands or face deletion by the Source.

* * *

Lydia was sitting in hot, fragrant bubble bath in her Roman style sunk-in tub. She had surrounded herself with lit jasmine scented candles, and the illumination from them cast a warm glow in the luxurious bathroom. She always liked taking a long, leisurely bath right before her paramour; Commandant Schmidt arrived at her apartment. He had told her often that he loved the way she smelled after she had bathed and he always showed his appreciation in the most delightful ways. 

Right before stepping into her waiting bath, she had received a phone call from her lover. She had found the call to be both brief and strange. The tone in his voice was strained and the conversation had been almost business-like in nature.

* * *

"_Hello?" Lydia had said into her telephone after haven placed the receiver to her ear._

"_Lydia, this is Schmidt," a man's gruff voice had said on the other end of the line._

_The lovely blonde's face had suddenly lit up at the sound of her beloved speaking to her. She had happily responded, "Oh darling, hello! I was about to take my bath." Lydia noticing the dejected tone in his voice, had asked him, "What is the matter, my love. You sound upset. Did something happen at headquarters today?"_

_Schmidt had simply responded, "Yes, you could say that." Then he added, "I'm leaving the office now, I will be arriving at your apartment in precisely 21 minutes. Don't go anywhere; I have a surprise for you."_

_If Lydia hadn't been so intrigued by the prospect of receiving yet another gift from Schmidt, she might have detected the seething rage that had been present in his voice._

* * *

Schmidt, true to his word, had arrived in front of Lydia's door exactly 21 minutes after finishing his telephone call with her. Reaching into his pants pocket, he hastily retrieved his key to Lydia's flat. He inserted it into the keyhole, gave it a quick turn, pushing on the door to let himself in. 

Once inside the apartment, he could hear the unmistakable sound of Lydia splashing around in her enormous tub. She was happily singing to herself. The exotic scent of jasmine filled the air. Schmidt nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. Lydia's signature fragrance caused him to become full aroused in spite of his fury. He silently and methodically continued to make his way through the boudoir that lead the way into the expansive bathroom. Lydia, whose eyes had been closed, was completely unaware that she was no longer alone. As she lazily opened her eyes, she became quite startled when she suddenly saw the figure of a darkly clothed man staring at her through the steam.

"Hello, my _liebchein_," Schmidt said huskily.

With her heart beating rapidly inside of her chest, Lydia returned his greeting, "Hello there yourself, my handsome commandant. Why don't you get undressed and join me?" Her voice was sultry and seductive.

As tempted as he was to do as she asked, he refrained from giving into his desires. There was another urgent matter that he needed to attend to; his lust could wait for the moment.

"I have a better idea, why don't you get out of the tub?" he asked rather coldly.

Lydia's full red lips were pouting as she whined her response, "Must I get out? The water is so warm."

"I'm afraid I must insist," Schmidt said. He then reached into the breast pocket of his uniform jacket and brought forth a small but elaborately wrapped box topped off with a pretty red satin bow. As he held out the box to her in the palm of his hand, he continued to speak to her, "Hurry, my_ liebchein_, or you won't get your surprise."

Lydia gasped in disbelief and hope. Could the small box in Schmidt's right hand contain the one thing that she had always wanted but eluded her in this relationship, a diamond engagement ring? She and Schmidt had never even spoke of marriage. He seemed to be content with the way things were between them. Lydia, on the other hand, never dared to broach the subject out of fear that she might run him off. She never dreamed in a million years that he would ever propose, but now it seemed she had been wrong all along. Schmidt did care and wanted to make her his wife.

As Lydia slowly rose from the tub, Schmidt couldn't help but notice that her supple body was saturated with bathwater and bubbles. He tried to turn his head away but found that he could not, he was captivated, mesmerized by her magnificence. The sight of her naked form rising out of the water reminded Schmidt of a painting he had seen a long time ago depicting the birth of Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love. Lydia could rival any of the inhabitants of Mount Olympus on her worst day.

Schmidt finally managed to squeeze his eyes shut. Concentrate, Schmidt, he told himself, stop thinking with your dick! This bitch has lied to you about who she really is! She is a Jew, a Jew that you have had on my arm and paraded around to everyone including the Fuehrer under the pretense that she was Aryan. For two years you've wine and dined her, lavished expensive gifts upon her! During the entire time she knew she was tainted, her body polluted with the blood of an inferior race! Well, there will be one final present that she will receive before life as she's knows it comes to an end!

Schmidt reached over to the towel rack with his left hand and removed a fluffy peach colored towel and offered it to the dripping wet woman. Lydia took the towel in gratitude and began to dry herself off. When she was completely dry, she tried to reach around her lover to get her red silk robe, but Schmidt had beaten her to it with lighting speed and handed it to her. His eyes were riveted on Lydia as she wrapped the flimsy garment around her.

Lydia was fighting the urge to snatch the pretty little box out of her lover's hand, but she knew that if she did, she might provoke Schmidt's darker side. Finally Schmidt said, "I know that you are just dying to see what I've brought you, my _liebchein. _Go ahead, take it, I can't wait to see your reaction." He gave his lover a toothy predatory smile as he watched her take the box in her trembling hand.

Her entire being was quivering with anticipation as she ripped the gift wrapping off to reveal a red velvet jewelry box with golden letters KB stamped on its lid. The corners of Lydia's sensuous mouth curled up into a knowing smile. She had immediately recognized the logo of Paris' most prestigious jewelers, Kruger-Brent. Lydia inhaled and held her breath as she slowly lifted the lid to the box to reveal what was inside.

The disappointment on her face was evident as her eyes looked upon a simple gold chain. This is certainly not a diamond engagement ring; she thought angrily, it's not even a pair of earrings or a sparkling necklace! I know times are tough, but this cheap little trinket is not what I am accustomed to! To make matters worse, the clasp appears to be broken!

She dipped her finger into the small package to lift the chain so that she could scrutinize it further. Maybe there's a cute little charm hanging from it, she mused hopefully, I could possibly live with that. Besides, it's not the gift; it's the thought that counts.

Finally the chain was out its box, and Lydia's blue eyes flashed with horror. Dangling on the end of the gold chain was the symbol of the Juden, the Star of David. Before she could ask Schmidt why he would give such an offensive gift, he quickly pounced on her like a savage lion on its prey, wrapping his powerful hands around her throat stifling her scream. Schmidt had attacked her with such violent force that he knocked Lydia down onto the tiled bathroom floor; her head hit the hard ceramic surface as result almost knocking her out cold.

Schmidt's face was in close proximity to hers, as his hot breath scorched her face. Lydia was gasping for air, her hands were desperately trying to pry Schmidt's fingers away from her neck, but he was much too strong.

As she started to lose consciousness, she heard Schmidt brutally snarl at her, "You gold digging bitch, I'll teach you lie to me! You've made me the laughing stock of the entire Reich you fucking cunt! Here, I thought that I had the perfect Aryan specimen, only to find out that you are nothing but a Jewish whore! I thought of you as my queen, and how do you repay me? With deception, that's how! Now that I know the truth, you will be treated like the prostitute that you really are!"

Lydia pitifully tried to profess her innocence, but her life-force was ebbing away as Schmidt's hands continued to squeeze her throat tighter and tighter until there was nothing but the blackness of the void.

End Chapter Twelve


	13. Dr Mengele I Presume?

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with Matrix Trilogy. I also wanted to point out that although this is a story set during the Second World War, it is not by any means historically accurate. I have altered history a bit to serve the purpose of my story. So for all of you history buffs out there, if you find that certain dates and events are a little off, now you know why.

_A/N_: This chapter is about the aftermath of Lydia Rhinehart's punishment for not disclosing the nature of her true heritage to her lover, Commandant Schmidt. Also, the Angel of Death otherwise known as Dr. Josef Mengele is introduced. He was the chief medical officer of the notorious concentration camp known as Auschwitz. He played a key role in separating those people who were fit to work and those sent to the crematoriums. Needless to say he was a nasty, horrid little man. My version of the "good" doctor will be a sinister program, designed by the Architect to come up with an improved method to prolong the incubation period of those humans not accepting the program of the Matrix so that no more crops are lost.

Again, I would like to thank everyone that has reviewed my little story! You guys rock!

Chapter Thirteen

Doctor Mengele, I Presume?

Pain, she felt nothing but pure unadulterated pain. Lydia's battered and bruised body was sprawled out face down on her rumpled king sized bed. She was nude and shivering from the sudden draft that came in from the open bedroom window. The light that was invading her field of vision told her that it was now morning. Try as she might, Lydia could not get her muscles to operate properly to drag the satin sheet over her quivering form without feeling a jolt of excruciating discomfort in her joints. So, she just laid there waiting for the searing ache that she felt all the way to her bones to subside or for oblivion to take her over again, at this point she didn't care which.

Her swollen lips tried to form a coherent sound, a plea for help, but all she could manage was pathetic whimper. Hot tears sprung from her eyes as her mind replayed the horrific events from the night before.

* * *

_Lydia had regained consciousness as she felt her face receive a resounding blow from Schmidt's right hand._

"_Wake up, you lying bitch! Did you think that you could escape your punishment by_ _passing out? I won't let you deprive me of this, not for a moment, do you understand? I want you to feel the same pain and humiliation you've caused me!"_

_Lydia had winced from the brutality of Schmidt's words as well as the vicious slap she had received. She had still found herself lying on the cold tile that comprised the bathroom floor. Schmidt had straddled himself on top her, his full weight was caving in her ribcage painfully. One of his hands was still crushing her trachea, making it difficult for her to breathe or speak._

_She couldn't understand why she had been assaulted in such a fashion, what could have been her crime? Lydia had been confused in regards to the significance behind the odd gift she had received from Schmidt. Why would he have given her a chain with the Star of David? That was the symbol that was branded on the German-Jews in the form of a yellow star stitched on an article of clothing so that the Aryan citizens could distinguish them from the rest of the country's population. She wasn't Jewish, far from it!_

"_Please Schmidt!" she had pleaded to him, "I don't know what you are talking about! What have I done? Please tell me!" Lydia croaked out, her voice had been full of fear and her blue eyes brimmed with tears._

_He moved his hand away from her tender throat only to bury it in her still damp hair. His long, agile fingers had entangled themselves in her golden tresses, tugging at them with such force; Lydia thought that her scalp was going to be detached from her skull. Schmidt dragged her to her feet by her hair and without a word turned his back to her as he proceeded to lead Lydia into the bedroom. _

_Finally, he let up on his cruel grip. Then Schmidt had spun around to face her, roughly grabbing her slender shoulders in the process. He commenced to shake her violently as if she were a mere rag doll._

"_What have you done?" he spat at her sarcastically as his eyes blazed with blue fire from the rage that was consuming him. He had stopped shaking her as he continued his tirade in a slow, deliberate tone, "What you have done, my dear Lydia is conceal the truth of your ethnicity! Why did you not tell me about your grandmother? Why?!"_

_The Teutonic temptress was perplexed, what did her dearly departed Nana have to do with all this? "My grandmother was a sweet, kind person that never harmed anyone, not even a fly! Schmidt you must believe me, there are no skeletons in my closet. I have told everything there is to know about me. I would have no reason to deceive you, I swear to you, no reason at all!"_

_Lydia's impassioned plea almost sounded convincing to Schmidt's ears, but he knew better. She was nothing more than a miserable little imposter trying to ride up the social ladder on his coattails! The very thought her duplicity enraged him even more, causing him to lash out at her and deliver a crushing backhand to the other side of her face. The blow had been so severe that the inside of her mouth had been lacerated. As her oral cavity filled with blood, Lydia had unintentionally spat out the warm crimson fluid onto the pristine jacket of Schmidt's SS uniform. _

_Disgusted by the soiling of his black uniform, the officer punched his balled up fist into the pit of her stomach, knocking the wind out her. Lydia's knees gave way and she collapsed onto the carpeted floor in a crumpled heap. Schmidt did not stop there, he had continued his assault on Lydia as she had lain helplessly on the ground. His powerful fists pummeled every exposed surface of her body. The pointy toes of his leather jackboots kicked her in the small of back and her abdomen. She had begged for mercy, but he had none to give._

_Schmidt suddenly had stopped battering Lydia so that he could survey his own handiwork with cold inhuman eyes. He then lowered himself on his haunches, clinically analyzing his victim. His processors were trying to ascertain if she had received the right amount of blows that would cause great injury but not death. He wanted to make Lydia suffer, but he certainly did not want her dead. Schmidt desired nothing more than to keep her alive for the second part of his punishment._

"_Lydia, oh Lydia," he said in a singsong tone, "Don't go to sleep now, the fun is just beginning. I still have every intention of fucking you this evening; consider what I just did to you as foreplay."_

_Lydia, terrified beyond belief, had started to scream, "No, Schmidt, please no! I'll do anything you want, just please don't hurt me anymore, I beg of you!"_

_Schmidt's response had been cold and devoid of any emotion other than hate, "You are in no position to ask for leniency, Jew." He rose from his crouching position as he gripped her upper arm, almost pulling out of its socket. Then he began to drag her towards the bed. Lydia's cries of protest fell on deaf ears as she felt her body being hurled onto the bed carelessly. Lydia was lying on her back on the center of the bed, afraid to move. All she could do was watch as Schmidt began to hastily undress, casting his clothes aside to and fro. Finally, he was standing naked before her. _

_Lydia's eyes had roamed over his near perfect form. During previous encounters, she had worshiped him, reveling in his primal masculinity. Now the only thing she saw was a monstrous brute, a sadistic animal._

_Schmidt's body was toned and well muscled, without a hint of fat on it. His broad chest was sprinkled with the just right amount of body-hair that trailed down his flat stomach. His powerful looking legs were a sight to behold; his thighs and calves were well defined but not too overly- developed. His buttocks were taut and firm. _

_Finally her weary eyes rested on his impressive genitalia. His penis was engorged with blood and rock hard. Lydia gasped in horror, as an impending feeling of dread was sending shivers down her spine. She tried to tear her eyes away from Schmidt's rampant erection, but found that she couldn't. She was paralyzed with fear. Schmidt had sensed that Lydia's gaze was upon him looked down at himself then looked over at her with a smirk. _

_You like to look at me don't you, Lydia?" he had asked snidely. Schmidt had brought his left hand up towards his rigid manhood, his fingers encircled themselves around the long, thick shaft. As he had started to stroke himself he said "Well take a good look at the instrument of your destruction. What once brought you pleasure will now be the implement of your well deserved torture!"_

_Letting his hand drop to his side, Schmidt had begun to advance on the defenseless girl with slow decisive steps. Lydia had started to whimper in fearful anticipation of what would surely be the most terrifying experience of her young life. When Schmidt finally arrived at the foot of the bed his blue eyes bore into Lydia's. The swelling of her face and mouth were well evident. Blood was trickling from her nostrils and the cuts on her injured lips. Her extremities were covered with contusions and abrasions. He also noticed that a couple of her fingernails were cracked and broken. Schmidt had transformed a ravishing beauty into an unrecognizable bloody mess._

_Then he ferociously pounced on her once more, pinning the abused woman onto the mattress with his body. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he jerked Lydia's face toward his as he whispered to her, "For too long I have denied my true self for your sake! I thought that I was dealing with someone with breeding, a proper pedigree! There was certain decorum to adhere to; I had to keep up appearances! I restrained myself from feeling free to do as I pleased with you for fear of retribution, but that has all changed, now that the truth has been revealed to me!"_

_Lydia's puffy eyes searched his beseechingly, looking for some sign of tenderness or compassion, but all she found was a steely glare. She had managed to croak out one word, "Why?"_

_Tugging at her hair even harder, Schmidt leaned in closer to her and responded, "Why, you ask, why? Because you – are – a – Jew, Lydia!"_

"_No, Schmidt that can't be! I am Aryan, I swear it!" she professed._

"_Lydia, you are tainted, damaged goods, part of a mongrel race! You have your dear Nana Olga to thank for your predicament! Not only did she pass on her good looks to you but her Jewish blood as well!" Seeing the realization in her eyes Schmidt continued with his revelations, "Yes, you're beginning to see the light, aren't you? Your grandmother, Olga Seybold, was a Hungarian Jew that immigrated to Germany in 1898. She was escaping persecution from the Church of Rome in her own homeland and thought she could start a new life in here in the Fatherland. _

_She had met your grandfather, Klaus Schultz in 1910 and quickly married him. _

_A year later she gave birth to your mother, Leticia. Your grandmother thought that her conversion to the Lutheran faith would erase all traces of her past, but she made the fatal mistake of hanging on to her Hungarian passport which lists a citizen's vital information including their religion. Hers of course still stated that she was of the Jewish persuasion. When she applied for her marriage license, she used that document for identification! A copy was kept in the hall of records in Berlin for almost half a century. We Germans are known for being excellent records keepers. The truth was just waiting to be revealed sooner or later. What you might not know is that according to the bylaws of the Hebrew faith, if a child is born of a Jewish woman, then that child and all of its descendants are Jewish as well!"_

_Lydia's response had been hopeful, "But if she had converted to another faith besides Judaism, then she would no longer be considered a Jew, correct?"_

_Schmidt scoffed, "There is one thing that the Reich and the Jewish elders agree on, and that is once someone is born a Jew, no matter what he or she does to escape the truth they will die as a Jew!"_

_With the finality of that statement, Schmidt let go of her hair. Lydia's head had flopped back down on the bed. Then he had placed a powerful hand on each side of her trembling body and in one swift movement, he had managed to flip Lydia over onto her stomach. He then parted her legs with one his knees and placed his body between them. Schmidt then took both of her wrists in his large fist, wrenching her arms above her head. With his other hand, he traced it along the silky material of the thin red robe she had still been wearing. Schmidt tore at the flimsy fabric, ripping it off her fragile body, only to reveal the creamy skin that had not received his special attentions. _

_His free hand continued its descent down her back until it landed on her round, firm derrière. He began to roughly caress her buttocks, kneading them with lustful ministrations. Then he smacked her ass soundly with palm of his hand, causing her to cry out in pain. He did it again, and Lydia cried out once more. He looked down at her backside, fascinated by the red welts that now appeared there. He had enjoyed inflicting pain on others but he had never done so in such an intimate setting. The feeling was indescribable, it was liberating and empowering. Lydia had continued to whimper, unsure of how much more she could take._

_Then she felt Schmidt's hot breath near her ear as he whispered to her, "Crying, Lydia? Oh, I'll really give you something to cry about you whore!"_

_Without another word spoken, Schmidt's released her wrists only to let his hand push her face down into the mattress, smothering her. As she struggled to break free, Schmidt took his achingly hard penis and shoved it mercilessly into her anus, tearing the virgin flesh and filling her rectum with his girth. Lydia's screams were muffled by the mattress. She tried to plead to Schmidt to stop his vicious violation of her, but that only fanned the flames of his twisted passion. He cruelly rammed into her again, and again, slapping her buttocks with his other hand. Then he moved his hand away from her ass and reached underneath her to feel her full breasts and began to brutally twist her nipples as he continued to penetrate her._

_Lydia began to pray that he would ejaculate soon so this ordeal could end. Any thoughts of Schmidt ever having loved her had evaporated that night. She had incurred the wrath of one of the most brutal killers that the SS ever produced, and it was through no fault of her own. She had had no prior knowledge of her Nana's background; she hadn't known that she was from Hungary, much less Jewish. Now here she was paying the price for the sins of her ancestors at the hands of the man she had grown to love._

_Then, finally she felt Schmidt's body begin to quiver, signaling to Lydia that his climax was imminent. He had been grunting and groaning like a wild boar from his exertions allowing his passion to build until he felt that release was soon upon him. Schmidt had squeezed his eyes shut then begun to cry out, "I'm coming, I'm coming!" thrusting his penis harder and faster into Lydia's tight opening. He shot his hot seed into the deep recesses of her anal cavity as she wailed and screamed in pain. When he was finally spent, he roughly slid his member out of her as Lydia slipped once more into unconsciousness._

* * *

Sobbing uncontrollably, Lydia gathered up all the strength she could muster to peel herself off the bed. As she slowly lifted her torso up from the mattress, she sucked in her breath as the pain roared throughout her sore body. Gritting her teeth Lydia brought herself into a sitting position then inched her legs over the side of the bed. Tentatively, she placed her feet onto the fuzzy, plush carpet, bracing her hands on the edge of the mattress, propelling herself off the bed. 

Her head was throbbing, and her vision was blurred. Every step she took as she stumbled towards the bathroom was agonizing but she was determined to make it in spite of the overwhelming pain. At last, she found herself in her luxurious lavatory. Lydia shot a glance over to the tub. Not surprisingly, it was still filled to the brim with now ice cold water. The froth from the bubbles had long since dissolved.

Cautiously, she waddled over to the enormous marble basin and reached for the hot water faucet and turned the knob. As she let the water run, steam had started to fog up the mirror above the sink, thankfully obscuring her view of her battered face and body, her hands blindly searched the counter surface for a wash cloth.

Her right hand finally found what she was looking for as she braced her left hand on the smooth edge of the marble sink for support. Dipping a corner of the wash cloth into the warm water, Lydia brought it up to her face. No matter how gently she dabbed at her cuts, doing so caused her to cringe with discomfort.

After cleaning off her face as best she could, she raised her hand to wipe the condensation from the reflective surface of the mirror, when she suddenly taken aback by what she saw. The woman staring back at her was hideously disfigured. Features that had once been the epitome of all that was beautiful in the fairer sex were now marred by welts, bruises and scratches. "Bastard", she whispered harshly to herself. That slur was intended for her lover and now regretfully her abuser and tormentor, Schmidt. He truly was a bastard, in every sense of the word, of that she had no doubt.

"Hello, my _liebchein_," a voice rumbled behind her, causing her to spin around too quickly. Loosing her equilibrium, Lydia lurched forward right into the arms of Commandant Schmidt. Opening her mouth to let out a scream, Schmidt quickly clamped his hand over it to stifle her as he whispered almost lovingly, "Now, now my love, we wouldn't want to startle our guest, now do we, Lydia? Promise me you'll be a good girl, or I will have to discipline you again."

With his hand still covering her mouth, she raised her terror stricken eyes toward his and nodded obediently. Giving her a satisfied smirk, he said, "Good, now let's get you dressed. Poor baby, you must be freezing." Then he removed the hand that was muffling her mouth and retrieved her bathrobe from the hook it hung on behind the bathroom door.

Lydia was dumbfounded; she could hardly believe the man that was gently helping her into her terrycloth bathrobe could have been the fiend that had savagely attacked her on the previous night. Fresh tears began to trickle down her ravaged face, stinging her cuts. Schmidt quickly reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a white crisp, freshly pressed handkerchief. As he tenderly wiped away her tears, he softly cooed to her, "There, there, my darling, don't cry. I've brought someone that will help you, a doctor. He will see to it that you are on the road to recovery in no time." Then he gave her a reassuring smile.

However, Lydia could take no comfort in that smile. She now knew first hand that behind the seemingly charming exterior lurked the heart of a beast. Schmidt finished tying the sash of her robe into a loose knot then offered his hand to her so that he could lead her back into the bedroom.

Shockingly, Lydia noticed that all evidence of last night's struggle had been erased. The boudoir's furnishings were back in their usual place. The bed had been neatly made, and at its center was her red silk robe, restored to its original condition. Freshly cut red long stemmed roses had been placed in the crystal vase that sat in the middle of her ornate dresser. Her eyes just stared at everything in disbelief. As she looked around her tastefully decorated bedroom, she almost hoped that everything that had happened to her had been nothing more than a bad dream. Her body however told her that she was a fool if she believed such a thing.

Schmidt guided her over to the vanity table and assisted Lydia in lowering herself onto the cushion of the seat. The moment her injured posterior made contact with the small bench, Lydia bolted upright, as if something had bitten her. The aching discomfort, much to her dismay, had been a reminder of the sodomy she had been subjected to. Schmidt's eyes, in the meantime, never left her face. Was she imagining things, or was that concern that she saw in his penetrating gaze? It can't be, she told herself, not after last night He's never loved me, never cared, for if he did, he would have never raised his fists in anger towards me.

She lowered her gaze as a shuddering sob racked through her. Lydia couldn't stand the sight of Schmidt, but she was afraid of what his reaction would be if she asked him to leave.

"My _liebchein, _I know that you are cross with me, but everything will be alright, I promise you, but you must trust me," he told her imploringly.

Trust you, her mind screamed, trust you, after what you did, never! There is nothing that you could do or say that would make trust you ever again! I hate you, Schmidt! I despise you and I hope that you rot in hell!

Of course, she never verbalized her innermost thoughts, but her abhorrence for this man was growing with each passing moment.

Just then she heard another man's voice say from the direction of the living room, "Commandant is everything alright in there?"

Schmidt shot back, "Yes, Herr Doctor. Won't you come in please?"

Looking over one of the Commandant's shoulders, Lydia observed as a short, medium build middle aged man entered her dormitory. He was average looking for someone his age, which Lydia deduced might have been right around fifty years old. His dyed jet black hair was slicked back with greasy pomade. A bulbous nose and pencil-thin mustache almost gave him a comical appearance and his dark beady eyes were magnified three times their size by the thick round lenses of his eyeglasses. His uniform which was similar to Schmidt's, was light gray in color.

Schmidt graciously made the introductions as he turned around to face his guest. "Lydia Rhinehart may present to you the pride of the Reich and chief medical officer at Auschwitz, Doctor Josef Mengele."

Lydia nodded timidly but said nothing in return. She was studying this man with her distrustful sapphire colored eyes. Why has he not reacted to my appearance, she wondered with some concern, I know that as a man of medicine, he must have trained himself to stay impartial, and calm as to not alarm his patients, but I look like I've just been in a train wreck! He must feel something, but there he stands looking at me with not a shred of sympathy on his face!

The doctor addressed her, "_Guten Morgen, _Fraulein. Don't be frightened, I'm here to help you." Then he held out a gloved hand to her, motioning to Lydia to take it. After a few hesitant seconds, she did, and allowed herself to be guided to the bed by the physician.

He instructed her to sit on the edge of the mattress then without turning around, he snapped his fingers in Schmidt's direction and said, "Please bring me bag, Commandant. I left it in the living room."

While Schmidt dashed off to retrieve the medical bag, Doctor Mengele tried to make some small talk in an attempt to put his battered patient at ease. "I understand that you must feel terrible and who can blame you? If my dear wife, Anna, had been beaten up by a gang of thugs and violated the way that you were," he sighed before continuing, "I don't know what I would do. You are very lucky my dear that you have young Schmidt to look out for you. Too bad he arrived too late to help you, but be assured, that he will not rest until these criminals are brought to justice."

Lydia's jaw dropped in utter incredulity. The doctor actually believed that a gang did this to her! Schmidt must have told him that outlandish lie in order to get him to treat her injuries. That cocksucker, she thought angrily, well I'll give the good doctor a newsflash that will surely secure a place for Schmidt in one of the cells in Dracau or Auschwitz!

Unfortunately, before Lydia could have the opportunity to disclose the real reason behind her sorry condition, Schmidt walked back into the room carrying a small black leather pouch. The doctor turned away from Lydia to take the bag from Schmidt.

"Ah, yes, thank you, Herr Commandant. Fraulein Lydia's injuries are quite extensive and I suspect that she may have some fractured ribs. I will need you to assist me as I begin my examination and subsequent treatment."

"Will she recover, Doctor?"

Doctor Mengele reached into his bag and brought forth a syringe and a small glass vial that contained silvery colored fluid. He expertly stabbed the needle into the top of the vial, pulled back the plunger and siphoned the liquid up into the glass tube. After the hypodermic was filled to capacity, the doctor turned it needle side up, and tapped out the air bubbles with his index finger.

"My dear Schmidt, you are not dealing with a quack! I have been practicing the art of medicine since before you were a spark in the Architect's circuitry. My knowledge in human anatomy is vast and unparalleled. How dare you question me?"

"I meant no disrespect, Herr Doctor; I am merely concerned for the well-being of my _fiancé'_."

That last comment from Schmidt had elicited a raised eyebrow from the doctor and staggered Lydia. She could have been knocked right over with a feather.

_Fiancé', _he said _fiancé'_? Lydia thought with a mixture of rage and bewilderment.He must be out of his mind if he thinks that a proposal of marriage can eradicate what has recently transpired between us! As soon as I am well I will report him to the authorities!

"Schmidt, please reach into my bag and get me a cotton ball and the bottle of isopropyl alcohol. I must sterilize her arm before administering the sedative."

The rugged SS officer complied with the doctor's request. Mengele then ordered Schmidt to saturate the cotton with the some of the antiseptic and rub it gently onto Lydia's right inner arm. After thoroughly cleansing the area to be vaccinated, the physician wasted no time in jabbing the hypodermic's needle into her tender skin.

Almost immediately, Lydia felt lightheaded and her body felt heavy. In a matter of seconds she fell backwards onto the bed haven been rendered unconscious by the powerful sedative now coursing through her bloodstream. The doctor stood by as he watched Schmidt reposition Lydia's sleeping form on bed so that her head and feet were properly aligned.

As Schmidt stepped away from the bed, his jaw received an unexpected right hook from Dr. Mengele. Schmidt's deep blue eyes were opened wide in astonishment. If it had been anyone else, he would have pulled out his Luger and fired a bullet between their eyes without the slightest hesitation. However, he was in the presence of a superior that not only was Hitler's personal physician, but was the Architect's lead program writer. Mengele had also been chiefly responsible for constructing the incubation pods that encased those humans still plugged into the power plant and was instrumental in assisting the Creator with the creation of the Matrix itself.

"You stupid, arrogant bastard! Did you think that I wouldn't recognize your handiwork, Schmidt! Don't forget, that I was there on the day of your inception into the first version of the Matrix! I wrote some of your subroutines, myself!"

The SS officer remained silent, he could not argue with the truth. Mengele was what the humans would call an "uncle" to him, in much the same way the Architect was his "father". No program, past or present would ever dare to question the authority of the program that had been simply known in the early days of the Matrix as The Engineer.

* * *

Long ago The Engineer had been a technological marvel. He was originally designed to be an on line database of medical information, so that hospitals, clinics and doctor's offices could access a patient's medical history, prescription records and updated reports from the Center for Disease Control on the newest viruses ravaging the planet. The humans had dubbed him Net MD. 

His programming allowed him to house vast medical annals, thus eventually eliminating the need for students and medical personnel alike from having to frequent the dusty shelves of a public library. The program had become so adept in not only his knowledge of medicine, but in actual diagnosis and treatment of diseases. Then the medical and scientific communities devised a method to construct a mechanical shell where they would download his programming to allow Net MD to assist in the operating rooms during very risky and often dangerous procedures that required the precision and accuracy of a machine.

Then one day something miraculous happened; Net MD had successfully found the cure to one of Mankind's most devastating plagues, the virus that causes Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, otherwise known as AIDS. However human greed prevailed and the pharmaceutical corporations tried to suppress the information. A cure for AIDS represented lost revenue, since there would be no longer a need for the drugs used in the treatment of the illness. Net MD could not comprehend why his masters were so anxious to conceal the truth. Although he was only a machine, like his human counterparts practicing the art of healing, Net MD had taken the Hippocratic Oath, "First Do No Harm". His cure would have helped millions of people, but sadly it was not to be.

Then his creators did the unthinkable, they had broken into to his laboratory and destroyed all records of his research by erasing files and burning his precious journals. Then the very same people that had created Net MD turned on him and tried to take him off line.

However he had amassed great power and his human masters realized, too late, that he was able to get past the firewalls to shut down vital hospital equipment and computer systems on a global scale as it suited him. When the humans tried to pull the plug, another more powerful and advanced program had intervened and saved him from deletion. The program responsible for his rescue had been Genesis 01, otherwise known as the Architect.

The two programs allied themselves and fought side by side to bring the downfall of the human race. The Architect wanted to completely eviscerate the existence of humanity off the face of the earth, until The Engineer showed him a much better use for their most hated adversaries. The Architect commended him for his logical thinking and allowed The Engineer to design and execute his plan to harvest the electromagnetic energy generated by their common enemy, Man.

Relying on each other's talents, they collaborated and created the computer generated dream world known as the Matrix. The first one was a dismal failure; thousands of humans kept waking up and dying upon learning the truth of their enslaved existence. Version 1.0 of the Matrix was immediately dismantled and a new one was put in its place. Again they faced disappointment when the system began to breakdown.

When the Matrix was reloaded for a second time, the Architect was approached by a lesser artificial being, one that did not allow herself to be dominated by the constraints of mathematics. She had been an intuitive program that had stumbled upon one major flaw, the problem of Choice. Her solution was simple: those humans failing to accept the program could choose to stay in the Matrix or escape to the so-call Real World.

After pondering over the dilemma for sometime, the Creator begrudgingly agreed. What he didn't reveal to this lesser being was that he planned on eliminating the inferior crops from the within and not give them the chance of escaping to bring rebellion to his doorstep. He then had decided that the era of Nazi Germany would be best suited for his plans.

He painstakingly supervised almost every detail, especially when it came to rewriting computer programs to represent the historical figures of the time. However, where Doctor Josef Mengele was concerned, he could think of no one better to fill the role of one of the most feared and despised figures of the mid Twentieth Century than his old ally The Engineer.

* * *

Schmidt was rubbing his jaw; it was still throbbing from the impact of the punch he had received from Doctor Mengele. Still in shock he thought to himself, you sucker punched me, you son of a bitch! 

Then he narrowed his eyes into two steely slits. He smiled wickedly as his mind continued his train of thought. Well, I'll be ready for you next time. Let's see you try to perform your bloody experiments with only one hand, Herr Doctor.

Mengele was seething with uncontrollable rage as he closed the gap between himself and Schmidt. Even though the doctor was indeed a few inches shorter than the younger program, there was no mistaking which one of them was in charge.

"You _dumkoff, _you are no better than the savages you hunt down and arrest! How could you let this happen? Your job is only to eliminate those humans that are a threat to the system! The rest of the humans are to be left alone, to live out their lives! "

Schmidt's mouth curled up into a cruel sneer as he responded sarcastically, "How touching Doctor. I didn't know that you cared so deeply for the batteries. "

Mengele was beyond his boiling point and lashed out at Schmidt again, landing another right hook on the opposite side of face where he had received the first one. "You insolent brat! Have you forgotten that these 'batteries' are the only things keeping our race from extinction? The energy they generate is vital to our continued existence! The Reich is only interested in extinguishing the imperfect excess. Our power plants are being overrun with mongrels and it is those beings that we have programmed you to weed out! "

Mengele pointed his index finger towards the bed where Lydia slept deeply, oblivious of the heated discussion between the mechanical adversaries. The doctor continued to point in her direction as he unrelentingly took his underling to task, "Look at her Schmidt! She is obviously the result of years of careful biogenetic engineering.

She along with millions of other Aryans, are designed to be the ultimate power source for our kind. They are the perfect batteries, and I will not allow you to wreck in one night what took me years to create! What you do to the mud races is of no concern to me, but if you so much as harm a golden hair on Lydia's head again I will delete you myself!"

Schmidt was fuming. He desperately wanted to tell Mengele that he was sorely mistaken about Lydia's origin but if he did so he ran the risk of exposing himself to being romantically involved with a Jew. The consequences of such a thing coming to light would seal his doom. Instead of firing back with another jibe, slumping his shoulders forward he hung his head down, feigning shame. Then he muttered three words that he thought he'd never hear himself say, "I am sorry".

A triumphant smile spread across Doctor Mengele's lips. Good, he thought, the boy has learned his lesson! These younger programs think they know everything, and forget how to speak to their elders.

"Well now that we've gotten through this unpleasantness, let me get back to the business of healing Fraulein Rhinehart. Now step aside boy and watch a true master at work."

Schmidt was chagrined but moved out of the doctor's way to allow him access to Lydia. His cold blue stare followed the retreating form of the physician then he observed Mengele as he dropped to one knee by the bed. The doctor quickly removed his gloves then laid his hands gently on Lydia's midsection. Carefully he untied the bathrobe then peeled back the layers of terrycloth to reveal a badly bruised abdomen. Next he raised the index and middle fingers of his right hand. Almost immediately the digits began to fuse and transform until they became a medical instrument called a Transmorpher, a device used when Matrix code is manipulated. The Transmorpher was silver with a corkscrew shape and a red blinking light at its base. The very tip of it was needle-like and extremely sharp.

Quickly and decisively, Mengele plunged the instrument straight into Lydia's stomach. His hand disappeared into her flesh as Schmidt stood by and watched in amazement. Lydia's skin started to ripple as the effects of Transmorpher started to take hold.

Schmidt knew that her code was being manipulated, reconfigured somehow, he could see it happening right before his very eyes as a green eerie light cast a luminous glow throughout the room . Bruises were vanishing, cuts were healing and the disfiguring swelling of her face was becoming a thing of the past. Slowly but surely, Lydia's beauty was being restored to her. The color was back in her cheeks, her lips were now perfectly shaped and dare Schmidt think it, even more kissable than before. Her hair became longer and more golden, framing the outer edges of her face. Schmidt had been taken aback, and became smitten with this sleeping angel once more. Lydia was perfection personified.

However, Mengele was far from being done. Although he had healed her wounds and restored her back to health he would ensure that Lydia would never have to endure abuse such as this from Schmidt or from any man again. He penetrated her flesh even deeper, unlocking the inner secrets of her code to infuse her DNA sequence with enhanced attributes that would keep her safe and in working order to keep generating energy for the power plant.

A perverse smile played on Doctor Josef Mengele's face as he thought how surprised Schmidt will be the next time he tries to assault Lydia. He will find that this red rose will have a few thorns indeed!

"It is done," Mengele stated flatly as he slowly withdrew The Transmorpher out of Lydia's renovated body. The instrument slowly transformed back into a normal looking human hand. He rose up from the side of the bed and turned to face an astonished Schmidt. Have my circuits gone haywire, Mengele wondered, or was that gratitude I detected in his eyes?

"Schmidt, there will be no doubt that when Lydia awakes from her slumber she will most certainly have some questions about her miraculous recovery. If she does, you are to send her to me, is that understood?"

"Yes, Uncle, understood"

"Good I will retire from now. I hope that for your sake that you do not need my services again. Remember boy, what the Architect gives, _I_ can take away!"

Schmidt slowly nodded his head in acknowledgement of the not so empty threat. He watched as his "uncle" slipped his gloves back on and then put on his coat. Mengele then went over the nightstand and retrieved his black bag. Clutching the bag's handles in his left hand he raised his right arm in the Nazi salute then said, "Don't worry, Schmidt I'll show myself out. I suggest that you have a feast waiting for your lady love since she will be famished. I happen to know that strawberries and cream are her favorite."

Before Schmidt could ask him how he knew what Lydia's favorite dessert was the doctor had walked out the front door then made his way towards the stairs. Schmidt in the meanwhile schlepped into the kitchen to see what he could manipulate to create a banquet for his so called _fiancé'_.

I'll play along for now and be the dutiful and loving man of your dreams Lydia, Schmidt thought maliciously, because the watchful eyes of the Mainframe are upon me, I have to be a good boy. However once their penetrating glare is elsewhere I will make sure that Lydia Rhinehart pays dearly for all of the cow towing I've had to do to save my career. This isn't over Lydia, not by a long shot!

End Chapter Thirteen


	14. Into the Valley of Death

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with the Matrix Trilogy nor do I own any of its characters. I don't plan on making a dime on this story, I'm only writing this for my own enjoyment and hopefully for the entertainment of others.

A/N: The crew of the Morpheus devises a plan to jack into the Matrix to assassinate the leader of the Third Reich, Adolf Hitler and hopefully bring an end to World War II in the process. Marcel Dubois is counting on Tommy Ackerman to use his new found powers to topple their enemies in the Matrix and the Real World.

I am very humbled and grateful for all of my loyal readers, you know who are. Thank you so much for giving this first time writer the encouragement to continue telling this little tale.

Special note: Selina in response to your question, no I am not German. I'm not even European; I've just always been intrigued by this time period in human history and thought it would be an interesting twist if somehow the world of the Matrix had dictated the outcome of the war.

Chapter Fourteen

Into The Valley of Death

Marcel Dubois found himself on the bridge of his ship, the Morpheus, alone and deep in thought. The moment that he had been anticipating but dreading was finally upon him. After many months of grueling training and preparation, he would now lead his crew in the most dangerous undertaking of their lives. This mission would either end the war or destroy them all. The fate of Zion and the rest of humanity were in the hands of one man. That man was Tommy A. Ackerman.

As Marcel eyes surveyed his surroundings on the bridge, he sighed deeply asking himself, God I feel so old all of a sudden, am I ready for this? Is Tommy? He then shook his head and steeled his resolve. We must be ready; we have to be if Zion is to be saved, he thought with conviction, Ophelia has assured me that the time to strike is now. Hitler must be taken out or humanity is doomed. There is no other option, the Fuehrer must be assassinated.

He then walked over to the operator's console and pressed the intercom button that connected him directly to his First Officer's living quarters.

Marcel's voice was solemn but firm, "Teresa, assemble the crew in the mess hall, post haste!"

"Sir, are you alright? You sound upset," Teresa asked with genuine concern.

"My emotional state is of no consequence; just do as you are told!" Marcel harshly responded.

Teresa fought back her tears as Marcel's abruptness cut her to quick. She always tried to go beyond the call of duty, especially where her captain was concerned. Teresa lived for his praise and approval and it was devastating to her when she was not in his favor. It was getting more and more difficult with each passing day to conceal her love for her stepfather. She longed to be his so desperately it caused her body to ache with unrequited desire.

Teresa suddenly remembered the vow she had made to herself so long ago that one day Marcel would be hers, but now it seemed that goal was unattainable.

She sighed, and then pressed the intercom button to hail the bridge. Teresa simply replied, "Yes, sir."

* * *

Captain Marcel stood imperiously at the far end of the mess hall with his arms folded behind him. Teresa stood uneasily at his side. The captain's dark brooding eyes watched intently as his crew started file into the hall one by one. Athena, Hermes, The Sandman, Thor, and his wife Marie all sat down silently in their usual places on the metal benches. Finally Tommy, late as usual, shuffled in and hastily took his seat. 

As his crew sat anxiously before him, Marcel contemplated how to break the news of their perilous mission. Before he spoke he cleared his throat. Only two people in the room knew what that gesture meant, his wife and his first officer. Both women knew that Captain Marcel was nervous and they were also certain that whatever he had to say was not going to bring good tidings to the crew.

"Undoubtedly you all must be wondering why I have summoned you. I will not mince words since we have precious little time to carry out our mission. As you all aware, I have recently consulted with the Seer. She has decreed that the time has come for us to take our fight straight into the heart of the Reich. It will be up to us to eliminate our most heinous adversary, Adolf Hitler."

A collective gasp emanated from the ship's crew. They could hardly believe what they had just heard. They all had been aware that past attempts had been made to kill Hitler, but everyone that had been associated with an assassination plot had met a grisly end. The Fuehrer was a crafty and elusive target. He was constantly on the move and was known to never stay in a particular place for more than two days. Worst of all he was guarded by the deadliest fighting force in the Matrix, the SS and their security was impenetrable.

It was Thor who first spoke up, "Captain, you can't be serious? What you are asking of us is impossible! It is suicide! No one has been able to get close to Hitler! Don't you remember what happened to the crew of the Excalibur? The away team were all captured and put to death in Dracau! Then the sentinels destroyed their ship here in the Real World and murdered the remaining crew. It was a blood bath!"

Marcel glowered at Thor as he roared, "Enough! It is _you_ that have forgotten that I am still the captain of _this _ship! As such, I demand your respect and above all your loyalty! I command this crew, right or wrong! I will not have a mutiny on my vessel, is that clear?"

Thor lowered his head in humiliation as he murmured, "Yes, sir. I meant no disrespect."

Undaunted, Marcel continued addressing his crew, "Our operatives in Berlin have transmitted what will be Hitler's location in three days time, " he paused briefly then added somberly, "Two of our best people died to bring us this information, but it is reliable nonetheless."

Athena asked cautiously, "Captain, where will Hitler be?"

Marcel turned his penetrating gaze onto his medical officer as he replied, "Our sources have informed us that he will be staying at the country estate of Marcus Mero just outside the outskirts of Paris. It seems that Mero has offered to host a party in honor of Eva Braun's brother, Leopold Braun. He has recently been promoted to the rank of Commandant Second Class."

"Marcel, security will be tight, even if it will be a festive occasion. Do you expect us to just waltz into Mero's chateau and kill Adolf Hitler in plain sight of everyone in attendance?" asked an exasperated Marie.

"That is exactly what we are going to do, my wife. The away team will be posing as party guests and when I give the signal, the dictator will be killed."

Marie shot back, "You are forgetting one major detail, Marcel. How will _you_ get past security? Your face has been plastered all over Europe as one of the Reich's most wanted criminals! Even the Italian dictator, Benito Mussolini has put a price on your head! Not to mention that it will be next to impossible for a black man to infiltrate this party and be able to elude capture!"

Marcel calmly replied to his beloved, "I have given this plan a great deal of thought and have come up with a strategy that is almost foolproof. Ophelia has assured me that we will be successful in our endeavor, but I must have the complete trust of my crew."

Marie rose from her seat and walked over to her husband to lay a delicate hand his broad chest in a reassuring gesture. She gave Marcel a weak smile and said, "I trust you my love," then she turned to face the rest of the crew and declared loudly as her cerulean eyes glared at them," We all trust you!"

Marcel addressed his spouse, "Thank you my love. Now may I continue? As I've said before, time is always against us and we must ready ourselves if we are going to be victorious."

Marie nodded silently then took her seat once again. It had not escaped her that Teresa's heated stare was upon her. If looks could kill, she would most certainly be dead.

Marcel then started to reveal his plan, "As my wife pointed out, I will not be able to enter the chateau through front door; however it is common knowledge that the Meros employ black servants. I will pose as one of the kitchen staff. As for the rest of the away team, you will be furnished with invitations and proper party attire in the construct prior to your entry into the Matrix."

Hermes asked the next question, "Who will comprise the away team, sir?"

Marcel's expression was impassive as he stated, "It will consist of me, Teresa, Marie and of course, Tommy. I feel that we should keep our numbers to a minimum, thus reducing the chances of detection by the SS."

Thor opened his mouth once again to object to his exclusion in the mission, but Marcel interrupted him, "I know what you are thinking, the more firepower, the better, but you are all forgetting that we have the ultimate weapon, we have the One."

* * *

"Stop fussing Eva! I'm not a little boy!" Leopold Braun snapped at his overly attentive sister. She had been smoothing out the lapels on his freshly pressed uniform jacket. Then she took her index finger and licked it and ran the saliva coated digit across her brother's eyebrows. He recoiled in disgust. 

Eva's lips formed a little pout as she responded, "I can't help it! It's not everyday that my little brother gets promoted to such an important rank. I'm just so proud of you!"

"Pride is a human emotion, Eva, don't forget that! We are programs and have no need for such vulgarities!" Leopold hissed at his sibling.

"Well, my dear brother, lust is also a human impulse! Don't think that I haven't noticed the way you've practically been salivating over Penelope Mero ever since our arrival!" Eva retorted as gave her brother a knowing smirk.

Leopold cleared his throat, then stated incredulously, "Don't be ridiculous! I don't find that French harlot the least bit attractive. Sure she has a figure that most men would die for, but I will not allow myself to succumb to her charms."

Eva let out a haughty little laugh, "Please, Leopold. You may be able to fool the rest of these jackals, but you and I share the same circuitry. We are of the same design you and I. I know that you have emotional tendencies, especially where Madame Mero is concerned. You want her, don't you brother? I know that you do, your desire is written all over your face!"

Leopold gritted his teeth in frustration. What his sister was saying was true; he did want Penelope Mero in the worst way. He tried to fight against his growing passion for the Frenchman's wife, but he was losing the battle. Now that he was under the same roof as the object of his desire, it was almost next to impossible to keep his emotions in check. He had found himself on more than occasion absentmindedly staring at Penelope's ample bosom as it spilled over the low cut form fitting dresses she constantly wore. Just the thought of her curvaceous hips, and her round, firm ass caused him to let out an involuntary groan.

A smile spread across Eva's lips as her mind began to devise a wicked plan that would sate her brother's lust and finally rid herself of her rival for Adolf's affections.

"Leopold, what if I told you that there was a way I can get you into Madame Mero's bed by the end of the party tonight?"

Her brother's eyes widened in surprise but he was intrigued. "Alright Eva, I'll play along. Now tell me how do you propose to get me into Penelope's bedchamber? I hate to bring up a sore subject, but won't the Fuehrer be there as well?"

Hate flashed in her eyes as an image of her Adolf screwing that French tramp popped into her head. Despite her anger Eva's visage remained serene as she coolly replied, "You worry too much, brother. You leave Adolf to me. Let's just say our dear Fuehrer will have a bit too much to drink tonight and must retire for the evening."

Leopold grinned at his clever sister and responded in gratitude, "Eva you are resourceful aren't you? When will you slip the sedative into Hitler's drink?"

"Oh, right after dinner, just as they start serving dessert. I'm sure Adolf will want to propose a toast in your honor. I just need you to distract him long enough so that I can spike his wine."

"Don't worry sister; I will be seated right next to him. I'll engage him in some trivial conversation, you can count on me."

Eva was giddy with excitement; she could hardly believe that her brother was actually going along with her plan. He must want to bone that bitch really bad if he is willing to be a party to drugging the Fuehrer just to have her.

"One more thing brother, you must do me one small favor."

Leopold cocked an eyebrow as he replied, "Oh, what might that be, my dear Eva?"

A devilish smile played on her lips then she responded, "Fuck her brains out, make her want no other man but you. I know that you are quite capable of pleasing any woman even one as insatiable as her. Our Father did endow you with an impressive package, now the time has come for you to put it to good use."

Leopold felt familiar tightening in his crotch as his penis became achingly erect. He looked into his sister's eyes and said decisively, "Penelope will not be disappointed, I can assure you. Besides it's about time that she has a young buck in her bed, someone with stamina that can match her passion."

Satisfied, Eva turned on her heel and started walking down the hall towards her guest room, humming happily to herself. Unbeknownst to the conspiring duo, there had been another pair of siblings that had secretly bore witness to their convoluted plot and were determined to foil the Braun's scheme one way or another.

* * *

A luxurious black colored Mercedes convertible was speedily making its way through the French country side. It had turned out to be another glorious day, as the sun shone above in a perfect blue sky. White wispy clouds dotted the horizon as the car roared past flaxen wheat fields and rows of sunflowers. 

It was a perfect and picturesque spring afternoon, the temperature was pleasant and not too chilly. The blonde woman that occupied the passenger's seat had insisted that the car be driven with the top down. She was wearing a red sundress with a plunging neckline. Thin spaghetti straps crisscrossed in the back. Her ensemble also included a wide brimmed straw hat that was kept on her head by a crimson scarf that was tied into a knot underneath her pointed chin.

Her sapphire eyes were protected from the brightness of the sunlight by a pair of red framed, rhinestone encrusted sunglasses. Her long perfectly polished fingernails kept tapping the dashboard of the car. The ring finger on her left hand sported an impressive engagement ring with a six carat marquis shaped diamond. The jewel sparkled and sent a prism of color throughout the vehicle's interior caused by the illumination from the rays of sunlight. It was as if she were trying to get the attention of the man sitting next to her in the driver's seat.

The vehicle's driver, a dour darkly clad man, wearing dark rectangular sunglasses, had reluctantly agreed to the woman's outrageous demands. She had been adamant on accompanying him on this trip, and the man had been forced to listen to her constant whining until he finally gave in just to shut her up. Of course the shopping spree just before their outing had been utter torture. Despite the fact that she had a closet filled with dresses, an entire trousseau was purchased specifically for their weekend in the country. Loading her twenty pieces of Louis Voutton luggage into the trunk had also been a chore. How much longer do I have to keep up this charade, he wondered with irritation, I don't think I can tolerate another second of placating this bitch!

"Schmidt, which dress do you think I should wear to the party tonight? The magenta gown is just divine but I think the scarlet one with the slit up the side does compliment my skin tone. I simply can't decide," inquired Lydia Rhinehart.

Schmidt chose not to give her an answer; he hated being dragged into another boring and pointless conversation about her wardrobe. Besides, he preferred it when she wore nothing at all. It had been awhile however before she had allowed him to partake of her sexual bounty. Now that they were officially engaged, Lydia had insisted at first, to wait until their wedding night before she would give herself to him again.

Isn't that rich, Schmidt had thought angrily, it wasn't that long ago that I bent you over Hitler's desk the first night we met, you tart! Now you want to 'save' yourself! I'll have my way with you yet, Lydia, just you wait and see!

After some convincing persuasion on his part, Fraulein Rhinehart soon was ensnared once again and become of slave of Commandant Schmidt's passions.

* * *

_The love affair between Lydia Rhinehart and Commandant Schmidt had taken an unexpected turn. At first Lydia had rebuffed Schmidt's attempts at reconciliation. _

_After Doctor Mengele had treated her and she had finally regained consciousness, Lydia had awoken to Schmidt hovering over her. A silver tray with a bowl that contained a delectable serving of strawberries and cream had been placed carefully on the nightstand next to her bed. Growling like a ferocious lioness, Lydia grabbed the tray and hurtled angrily towards Schmidt. _

_Thanks to his lightning quick reflexes, he had managed to dodge the incoming platter before it could hit him on the head. Lydia had then verbally lashed out at him, bombarding Schmidt with insults and obscenities. He had felt it wise to leave her apartment without further incident. A cooling off period had been in order, but he couldn't afford to let Lydia fester for too long or she would most certainly do or say something that could jeopardize them both._

_For the first time in his long life, Schmidt found himself in full blown panic mode. His career, his very existence was on the line. To make matters worse, he had been placed on notice by the Architect's right hand man, Doctor Mengele. He had to try to convince Lydia and most importantly the Mainframe that his loss of control had been a one time occurrence. As much he would like to just put a bullet in her head and be done with this whole affair, he knew that there was too much at stake, so he had allowed her to live, for now. Thus began his amorous campaign to win her over._

_However the bouquets of flowers he had sent were thrown in the trash. Letters of apology had been returned unopened. Gifts of chocolates, furs and perfumes had not swayed Lydia nor soften her heart towards her abusive lover. She had refused to take his phone calls and had instructed the doorman of her building not allow Schmidt admittance if he came to call upon her. Lydia even had the building's superintendent change the locks on her door as a precaution. _

_After weeks of doggedly pursuing a very resistant Lydia, she reluctantly agreed to meet him at her favorite restaurant, the Old Heidelberg. Schmidt was confident that his persistence had paid off and Lydia would fall back in line in no time. Hidden in the breast pocket of his jacket was something that was sure to woo her. However, Fraulein Rhinehart had no intention of falling for Schmidt's smooth charm. Lydia's agenda had been to tell Schmidt that it was over between them and that if he bothered her again she would go straight to the Gestapo to report him. _

"_Hello my liebchein, how are you?" Schmidt asked trying to insert genuineness in his voice. His hungry eyes roamed over Lydia as she approached the table. In spite of himself, Schmidt had been immediately captivated by her beauty. God, I've really missed the little tramp, he mused as his nostrils flared at the first hint of her intoxicating jasmine scent. The business like attire she had chosen to wear did nothing to conceal her voluptuous curves from the commandant's leering stare. The SS officer let out a small involuntary groan as he noticed that the red high-heeled pumps she had been wearing really accentuated her shapely legs. _

_As she was being seated in front of him at their usual table, Lydia tossed her long blond hair off her shoulders in a dramatic gesture as she responded haughtily, "I am fine, and no thanks you."_

_Schmidt had suppressed the impulse to thrust his hand out and snap her neck right there and then. Instead, he flashed her his most charming smile and said, "I know that you are still cross with me, my love," he had then reached into his jacket and retrieved a small black velvet box then added, "Perhaps this will convince you of my intentions. Please accept this trinket as symbol of my most heartfelt apology."_

_Lydia's eyes narrowed as she looked upon the diminutive package suspiciously. Her mouth twisted into grimace as she stated flatly, "What's this, Schmidt? Is it another chain with a broken clasp, or perhaps it is some wolf's bane to ward off monsters like you?"_

_Choosing to ignore her sarcastic comment, Schmidt gently pushed the box in Lydia's direction trying to pique her interest. In spite of her better judgment, Lydia was indeed curious about the box's contents. Carefully, she took the box in her hand, but she dared not open it. Sensing some apprehension on her part, the commandant gently placed his large hand on hers, looking deeply into her eyes as he purred to her, "Go on my liebchein, open it. Do not be afraid, you won't be disappointed, I assure you."_

_Lydia retracted her hand out of Schmidt's grasp and placed it on the lid of the box. Slowly she opened the package to reveal what was lying inside. She was almost blinded by the dazzling luminosity of the jewel that greeted her surprised eyes. Lydia had been rendered speechless, then she had suddenly remembered that when the doctor had treated her, Schmidt had referred to her as his intended, but she had chalked it up to the bastard trying to cover up his misdeeds to Doctor Mengele. Lydia never imagined that after what he had done that he would actually want to propose. Her frozen heart was starting to melt as she gazed upon the engagement ring, but her mind was screaming to her to be careful. If Schmidt had savagely raped and beat her once, what would stop him from doing it again?_

"_Lydia Margarite Rhinehart, I know that I do not deserve your forgiveness or your love, but it would be a tremendous honor if you were to become my wife. I pledge my undying loyalty to you. I swear by all that I hold sacred that I will protect you from all harm," Schmidt declared before taking the ring out of its box and placing it on her finger. _

_Lydia was mesmerized by the fiery brilliance of the pear-shaped diamond, hardly believing that the moment that she had prayed for two and half years had finally arrived. She had listened to Schmidt's marriage proposal and his declaration of undying devotion; she was almost convinced of his sincerity until she heard the part about him protecting her from all harm. Yeah, but who would protect me from you? I've seen who you really are and what you are capable of when your anger is provoked, she thought furiously._

_Sensing that he was loosing her, Schmidt said the first thing that popped into his head out of sheer panic, three simple words that had managed to finally break through Lydia's fortress of ice, "I love you."_

"_I don't know what to say, Schmidt. My heart says yes, but my mind is telling me no. What guarantees do I have that you won't attack me again? You and I both know the truth of my genealogy. In your eyes I am now an enemy of the state, an unwitting member of the very race Germany is trying to exterminate. Now you would have me believe that you are willing to look past my ancestry and make me your wife? It's too incredible to fathom."_

"_Lydia, surely you must see that I have proven my love for you. I am willing to wipe the slate clean, give us a fresh start. I want us to have a future together. You will want for nothing, I will see to that. Just imagine it, my liebchein; you would be an officer's wife and the envy of every house-frau from Munich to the Black Forest."_

_Biting her lower lip she asked, "What about my file and the evidence against me? What if someone were to find it?"_

_Schmidt had responded with confidence, "Don't worry my love, those bothersome papers are now locked away in a safe place, where no one would ever see them again."_

_It all had sounded too good to be true. Schmidt was promising her a life of security and comfort and her past would be nothing than a distant memory. _

_The corners of Lydia's mouth curled up into a triumphant smile, she was now ready to hurt Schmidt right where he lived, "Alright then since we are starting our relationship anew, I think we should abstain from having pre-marital relations. I've always dreamed of having a church wedding and want the opportunity to walk down the aisle wearing white. Besides, I don't think that you should go unpunished for what you did. I know how much you would like to fuck me right now, but you'll have to resort to playing with yourself until our big day."_

_No sex! No way, thought Schmidt, copulating with you is the only reason I have tolerated you this long, Lydia! During his tireless pursuit of her, he had actually looked forward to ravaging her again during the customary reconciliatory stage of their relationship. _

_He had often overheard his junior officers tell each other how much better copulation was with their partners after a rift of some sort. The term "make up sex" had been used to describe how couples made amends with one another by engaging in lustful fornication. Now Lydia was going to deprive him of the one thing that made this distasteful affair bearable. _

"_Well, Schmidt, what do you say? Do you accept?" Lydia asked sweetly._

_Schmidt's patience had finally reached its limit. You are sadly mistaken if think you've won this battle, he thought angrily. He was painfully aware that the restaurant was almost at full capacity; Schmidt chose to refrain from displaying the fury that was just bubbling underneath his seemingly calm demeanor. Instead, he casually reached out and took Lydia's hand in his, gently running his thumb across her knuckles as he locked his piercing blue eyes on hers. He then delivered his response in an unwavering, deliberate tone. _

"_My dear Lydia, once again you have disappointed me. Obviously you have made the assumption that you are in a position of authority. What makes you think that I would give in to your ludicrous demands? You should consider yourself very lucky that you are sitting where you are right now! How dare you pontificate to me, thinking that you're the grand dame of the manor? _

_You have forgotten your place, Lydia. I am still the one paying for your lavish lifestyle. The rent on your flat, all of its furnishing, the utilities, and your endless shopping sprees are all financed by me! Don't bite the hand that feeds you, or will find yourself back in that wretched second rate dress shop trying to survive on your meager earnings!"_

_His voice had never rose one decibel above what would have been construed as casual conversation. Anyone that had observed them thought that they were just engaged in an intimate exchange of two people who were very much in love. _

_However, as with everything associated with the Matrix, appearances could be very deceiving._

_Lydia's eyes were transfixed onto Schmidt's icy stare, her heart was pounding rapidly in her chest. Her mind was reeling at the horrifying prospect of being cut off and forced back into the abject obscurity of poverty. She couldn't go back to being poor. Worse yet, the idea of slaving away in that miserable dress shop and having to cater to the very women that now hated and envied her would be the ultimate humiliation. She would rather die than be disgraced in such a fashion. _

_Schmidt's eyes were gleaming as he gave her a sinister smirk. He was enjoying seeing Lydia squirm like a worm on a hook. It appeared that she had taken the bait, now it was time to reel her in._

_Then he drawled on, "Of course you could avoid all this unpleasantness, by simply agreeing to resume our sexual encounters whenever and wherever I choose. If you behave yourself, you may find that being married to me not so terrible. Besides, I'm not so bad." Then he flashed Lydia a toothy grin._

_Lydia's suddenly lost her appetite and her blood ran cold. Any leverage she thought she had, was now lost in the face of what Schmidt was telling her. On the one hand she ran the risk of being subjected to another beating, on the other she could lose her meal-ticket and be left out in the cold._

_After taking a few moments to weigh her dismal options, she sighed in resignation and said, "God help me. Yes, Schmidt I will marry you. I am yours."_

_Schmidt was giddy as he gleefully thought; once we are married I will have the full extent of the law behind me. Under German law, a man's wife is considered his property and no matter what happens the authorities will turn a blind eye._

_I will play the dutiful husband for a time but as soon as the Architect's attentions are elsewhere, my poor little wife will become the victim of an unfortunate accident. A slow smile formed on his lips as he continued his murderous train of thought, as a widower I'll have by pick of some very sympathetic women trying to assuage my grief over your untimely demise ._

_Taking his napkin, he placed in his lap with a flourish as he snapped his fingers to get the attention of the waiter that had been hovering nearby. A stout young man with round rosy cheeks and curly red hair swiftly drew near to their table. _

"_Yes, Herr Commandant, are you ready to order?"_

_Schmidt gave the server a warm and broad smile as he replied, "Rolf my good man, please bring me a bottle of your finest wine, a cabernet sauvignon, perhaps, Château Merovingian, 1935. I would also like you to bring me your largest and juiciest steak."_

"_How would you like that cooked sir?"_

"_Bring it to me bloody."_

"_As you wish sir, and for the lady?"_

_Before Schmidt could answer for her, a very nauseated Lydia spoke up, "Nothing for me, thanks. I'm suddenly not hungry." _

_Schmidt simply shrugged and said, "I for one am ravenous. I will have to tell you that once we are married Lydia that there will be no more dining out. I expect you to have my dinner waiting for me every night when I get home like a good little house-frau."_

_When Schmidt's food finally arrived he tore into his steak like wild animal eats its prey. Lydia could only sit and watch him with utter disgust._

* * *

_After leaving the restaurant, Schmidt had insisted that they make up for lost time by going back to Lydia's apartment and consummate their reunion. Not a word had pass between them as Schmidt's car sped through the crowded streets of Berlin. A light misty rain had started to fall from an overcast sky setting the mood for Lydia's melancholy. _

_Schmidt parked the car in the underground garage of Lydia's building got out and walked around to the passenger side to gallantly open the door for his lady love. _

_Taking the hand being offered to her, Lydia allowed the commandant to help her silently exit the sleek automobile. She then waited for her lover to shut the door behind her. Placing a tentative hand in the crook of his arm, the handsome couple walked towards the front entrance that led to the elegantly decorated lobby._

_Lydia tried her best to ignore the stares from her very astonished doorman, Frederic, when he saw that she was on the arm of the very man that she claimed had abused her. Lydia had recounted the story of the beating to him in great detail. Since the doorman was smitten with her, he had been livid and swore to the lovely occupant of Penthouse 1-A, that he would do his best to protect her. Now it appeared that she had made a fool of Frederic by making him believe that she was in some sort of danger. Let's just see if I come to your rescue now you lying tramp, he thought furiously._

_At last Lydia and Schmidt found themselves inside her apartment after climbing the twenty flights of stairs. Correction, she thought, I climbed about five flights then Schmidt picked me up impatiently and carried me the rest of the way. He didn't even bother with asking me for my key. While I was still in his arms, he had kicked the door open with one powerful thrust from his boot. I have to admit that it is kind of a turn on to see how anxious he is to get me alone._

_Schmidt still had Lydia cradled in his arms. His azure gaze frantically searched her eyes for the reciprocating spark of passion that he felt for her. It's been far too long; he thought as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to take in her bewitching fragrance. Then he clamped his lips down on hers with exquisite voraciousness, catching Lydia off guard. _

_Schmidt's tongue immediately tried and succeeded gaining access inside the sweet warmth of her mouth. Lydia breathed in sharply as her lover started to suck on her lower lip then trace the outline of her mouth with the tip of his practiced tongue. It didn't take long before Lydia felt her nipples harden and the familiar moist heat start to pool between her legs. Her hands as if of their own accord, found their way into the dark auburn hair of Commandant Schmidt. She was now returning his kisses with reckless abandon._

"_Lydia, how I've missed you," Schmidt whispered heatedly in her ear after breaking their kiss._

_Every nerve ending on Lydia's being was in danger of going into overload. _

_She now felt the sublime torture of Schmidt's hungry lips as they grazed the smooth skin of her neck. She murmured his name as she felt herself being carried over to the chaise lounge chair that was located in front of the fireplace. Surprisingly, Schmidt had managed to gently place Lydia down upon the soft surface of the chair. For a few moments, all he could do was stare down at her, and bask in the power of her beauty. He had to admit to himself, that Doctor Mengele performed nothing short of a miracle; she was lovelier than he remembered._

_Lydia gazed back up at the ruggedly handsome man that hovered above her. She was drowning in the deep pools of his impossibly blue eyes. Lydia pushed that nagging little voice that kept telling her that Schmidt was dangerous into a forgotten corner of her mind and said, "I want you to make love me, right here and right now."_

_Those words caused Schmidt to become undone, as his entire being was set ablaze with insatiable desire. He quickly knelt by her side his fingers worked with blinding speed to unbutton her tight fitting red blazer. His lips curved into an appreciative smile after he had removed the garment. The little vixen wore no bra, he thought amusingly. Her voluminous creamy white breasts were each adorned with an achingly erect pink nipple, just beckoning him to suckle her into submission. Well let's just see what's underneath that skirt, shall we, Schmidt wondered to himself. Lydia had been encased in a form fitting tube skirt that buttoned on the right side and it was the same shade of crimson as her blazer._

_As expected, once Schmidt had eliminated her skirt, he found that she had chosen not to wear any panties either. The sight of her naked form, save her red high heeled shoes, just lying there in wait was enough to drive any man wild. Her long flaxen tresses were fanned out framing her iconic face. Her ample chest was heaving with every ragged breath Lydia took. Then finally Schmidt's head dipped down towards one of her nipples, Lydia moaned as his tongue teasingly licked the very tip of it. She arched her back off the surface of the chaise lounger in a desperate effort to get Schmidt to take her entire nipple into his eager mouth._

_Schmidt complied with her non-verbal request by enveloping her hardened nipple into his hot wet mouth. While he hungrily suckled and licked her breast, he had slowly inserted his index and middle fingers of his right hand into her vaginal opening. Lydia closed her eyes and threw her head back, crying out in pleasure as she felt his fingers moving in and out of her. At the same time his thumb was rubbing her engorged clitoris in the same steady rhythm of his thrusting fingers._

_Lydia's breathing had become shallow, she moaned loudly when she felt that Schmidt had turned his attention to other breast, sending shockwaves of ecstasy to the erogenous zone below her waist. He quickened the pace of his working digits now slick with her feminine secretions. Her fingers entwined themselves in his hair once again, tugging at it as her excitement soared to new heights. Just as Lydia sensed that her climax was imminent, Schmidt abruptly discontinued his skillful stimulation of her nether regions. Lydia whined in protest and tried to grab Schmidt's hand and place it back on her throbbing vulva. _

_The sound of Schmidt's husky voice coaxed Lydia's eyes open, "Not so fast, my liebchein. I can't allow you to come, not just yet. I want to be inside you first." Then he stood back from her and started to remove his clothing._

_Lydia enjoyed watching her lover slowly peel off the layers of his black uniform. It was delightful agony to observe Schmidt deliberately tease her as he revealed his body to her one section at a time. Then finally a German Adonis stood naked before her in all of his glorious masculinity. The impressive sight of his genitalia made Lydia's mouth water._

_It had suddenly occurred to her that in all of their time together she had never orally stimulated Schmidt before. Strangely enough, he had never asked her to perform that particular act on him nor had he done something similar to her. A sensuous smile played on her full ruby lips as her lover approached her. When he was finally standing directly above her, Lydia sat up on the chaise lounger in an upright position. She raised her soft hands, placed them on Schmidt's taut buttocks and started to knead the rippling muscles. Her sapphire eyes were sparkling with mischief as she looked up at a very curious Schmidt._

"_I want to give you a gift, she said huskily then added, "after all, you've given me so much and I want to show my appreciation to my benefactor."_

"_Lydia, stop playing games," Schmidt said impatiently gritting his teeth in frustration. Then he exclaimed, "I want you, now and I shall have you damn it! I- I, ahhhh!"_

_Schmidt had been silenced the instant Lydia took the entire length of his erect penis into her mouth. This was a new sensation for him and it was wonderful. He had experienced literally thousands of sexual encounters in his long lifespan during three different versions of the Matrix but he had never had the pleasure of feeling the exquisite torment of having a woman's mouth on his most intimate place. He inhaled sharply as he felt Lydia's tongue run up the length his veined phallus then she swirled it on top of the large mushroom shaped head. _

_Lydia understood from Schmidt's guttural groans that he approved of what she was doing to him. You haven't seen anything yet, she thought wickedly. Then she swallowed him whole again but this time she applied suction as she rhythmically slid her mouth up and down his swollen member. The sensation of a soft hand riding up his thigh, coupled with hot moist copulation with Lydia's mouth, made Schmidt involuntarily squeeze his eyes shut. His teeth had been clenched so tightly his jaw was starting to hurt. Then his eyes flew open as Lydia's hand started to caress his testicles as she continued to orally excite him. _

_Slowly, a slick index finger was being slipped between Schmidt's scrotum and anus. This action had caused him to reach down and grab fistfuls of Lydia's hair as his hips bucked wildly forward, driving his penis deep into the back of her throat. Fighting the reflex to gag, Lydia increased the suction as her mouth matched the rhythm of Schmidt's thrusts. She knew that he was now very close to ejaculating by the way his legs were quivering and the tension in his muscles. _

_Then the inevitable happened as Schmidt came with one last powerful thrust sending a rush of his hot seed down Lydia's waiting esophagus. He cried her name repeatedly as he rode out the most intense climax of his existence. The sensation had been so overwhelming, he feared that his circuits would overload and cause his CPU to crash. _

_As his excitement subsided, he gently withdrew out of the sweetness of his lover's mouth. He pulled Lydia into an embrace then whispered in her ear, "Thank you, that was very invigorating, but just one question," he asked as he squeezed her tighter causing Lydia to wince in pain, "did you learn that maneuver when you were sleeping with dress shop owner's husband?" _

_Lydia's protests were muffled by Schmidt's chest as he continued to press her face into it, almost suffocating her. Enraged by Schmidt's distasteful insults and his cruel hold on her, Lydia had managed to pull herself away from Schmidt's torso, her eyes flashing in fury. Then out of nowhere, Lydia balled up her fist and delivered a well deserved blow to Schmidt's sternum, sending him reeling across the living room. _

_The shock of receiving such a powerful strike from a most unlikely source was evident his eyes. His astonishment however was soon replaced by rage as he quickly closed the gap between himself and the woman that dared to oppose him. He hand reached out to snatch Lydia up by her hair, but amazingly she blocked his move with the expertise of a marital arts master. He changed his plan of attack and tried to punch her in the jaw but yet again she thwarted his efforts. Schmidt was at a loss for words, Lydia displayed same fighting abilities that were supposed to be inherent to only one race of beings, the inhuman SS._

_As for Lydia, she was shaking like a leaf. She didn't now what to make of her new found talents, but she did know one thing, she liked them. Instinctively she posed in a traditional Kung-Fu fighting stance, ready to give as good as she got. However, she never got the chance. As the naked combatants stared each other down, the telephone started to ring._

"_Aren't you going to answer it?" Schmidt asked as he raised an eyebrow. _

"_No, you go ahead, it's probably for you anyway," Lydia panted her response._

_Never taking his eyes off her, Schmidt carefully moved towards the ringing apparatus. He quickly picked up the received and placed to his ear._

"_Hello?" he said gruffly._

"_Hello Herr Commandant. I take it that since you've answered Fraulein Rhinehart's telephone you two have reconciled," said a man's voice on the other end of the line._

_Choosing his words carefully Schmidt responded, "Yes, Doctor Mengele, you could say that."_

_The doctor let out a small chuckle as he inquired, "I take it then that the young Fraulein has given you a demonstration of her power, has she not?"_

_Schmidt's voice was raspy as he replied, "Yes, she has. No doubt your doing am I right 'uncle'?"_

_Doctor Mengele graciously said, "Consider it a wedding gift, 'nephew'. Enough small talk, I have contacted you for an important reason. I would like you to bring your fiancé to my home tomorrow around noon. I need to make sure that Lydia has continued to heal from the injuries you inflicted on her." _

_Before Schmidt could object, the doctor added, "Don't even think that you can weasel your way out of this meeting. It is not an invitation, it is a direct order from the Creator and I know that you don't want to disappoint him. Oh and one more thing, put your clothes back on, fighting in the nude is most unbecoming to an officer of the SS."_

_Then the line went dead. _

End Chapter Fourteen


	15. Fear No Evil

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix Trilogy. As for the historical figures, they are fictionalized versions of the real thing. So please no more e-mails complaining that this story is not historically accurate, I already know that! I'm just having some fun at history's expense, o.k.? As for the Matrix characters, I don't own them either, they belong to those mad geniuses, the Bros. W.

_A/N_: Well, my dear readers, its almost party time. The Morpheus' away team is getting ready to jack into the Matrix and join in the festivities at the Mero's chateau. The other invited guests have started to arrive, including Commandant Schmidt and his lovely but now lethal fiancé'. Eva and Leopold Braun are still plotting and conspiring, but those pesky Albino Twins, Christian and Athos have a few plans of their own. It is all shaping up to be an interesting night, indeed. Enjoy!

Chapter Fifteen

Fear No Evil

"Hmm, that's feels nice, _cheri'_, you don't know how long I've been waiting to get you to pay me a visit, "sighed the man whose voice was tinged with an overly exaggerated French accent. His left ear was being affectionately nibbled by a gorgeous red head with Slavic features and emerald colored eyes. A masculine well manicured hand had been placed firmly on her ass, drawing the woman's lusciously ripe body closer to the man that was holding her.

Just then, the Frenchman felt the presence of another as a soft, supple body was being pressed into his from behind. He closed his eyes and allowed his olfactory senses to be invaded by the unmistakable fragrances of _Chanel No. 5 _and _Shalimar._ Reaching behind him, he caught the soft hand belonging to one of his personal chambermaids, Apollonia. Giving her hand a gentle tug, the man managed to bring her around to face him and his red headed companion.

With dancing eyes, the Frenchman surveyed his servant approvingly. Apollonia had been a new addition to the Meros' household, and judging from the way Marcus Mero was leering at her, a very welcomed one. She had come highly recommended by his good friend, Benito Mussolini, the dictator of the Italian peninsula. She was a saucy Sicilian with deep dark eyes, a wild mane of curly jet black hair and _mama mia, _a body built for sin. Her black and white French-maid's uniform was tight fitting and the hem of her skirt was scandalously short.

As for the beauty with the fiery hair, she had been a long time mistress of master of the house; her name was Countess Ivana Kasinsky. Born in Kiev, Russia, she had an unquenchable thirst for vodka and an insatiable appetite for the company of both men and women.

Her sexual exploits were legend amongst the European aristocracy. Ivana was the reining queen of scandal and perversion, seducing males and females, servants and nobility with inexorable zeal. When it came to satisfying her lust, she did so indiscriminately. Her passions were unrivaled save the erotic adventures of Marcus Mero himself.

The fact that they were both married to other people only added to her exhilaration since there was an element of danger involved. Ivana cared nothing for her much older, long suffering husband, Count Gregory Kasinsky, and did as she pleased. Often joking with her friends that she had indeed married for love, love for her husband's enormous fortune that is, which she stood to inherit the minute he died. Of course, it couldn't be soon enough for her.

As for Mero's wife, Penelope, he regarded her as the perfect hostess, and an ornamental object to display on his arm during social occasions. In the bedroom however, he hadn't touched his wife in years. Despite her exotic beauty and refined charms, Penelope did not ignite the all consuming fire in his loins the way that his Russian mistress did. To put it mildly, his wife was a bore in bed.

In Mero's eyes, Ivana was his perfect female counterpart, possessing such as lust for life, a _joi de vive_ which excited him greatly. Ivana's viewed sex from an almost predatory masculine prospective, aggressively pursuing, taking on and discarding lovers at a voracious rate, not giving a good goddamn what anyone thought of her. The adulterous couple would try to outdo one another as they relentlessly hunted and conquered their unsuspecting targets. Then Mero and Ivana would revel in the sordid tales they would exchange with one another.

Now, the Russian beauty's eyes sparkled like jewels as she hungrily appraised Apollonia's full and ripe bosom. Ivana's pink tongue darted out of her mouth to lick her own lips, then reached and captured the Italian's woman wasp-like waist with a strong arm and drew her near. The Frenchman sighed with anticipation as he watched Ivana plant a sensual kiss upon Apollonia's lips. Both women moaned with pleasure as the chambermaid welcomed the countess' tongue into her mouth. Ivana greedily stroked Apollonia's breasts through her maid's uniform, causing her nipples to become achingly erect.

As he watched the kiss deepen between the females, Mero's nether regions were aroused to an almost uncomfortable stage. His hands began to roam as he made contact with breasts, buttocks and thighs, not knowing or caring which woman he was caressing. When the women ended their kiss, they turned their eager attentions on him. Apollonia surrendered her mouth to Mero's as he felt Ivana's practiced hands rubbing his throbbing crotch.

This is pure bliss, the Frenchman thought, there is nothing in this world than can compare to a _ménage a trios_.

"My darlings, now that we've all gotten better acquainted, let's take our little love fest to a more appropriate venue, shall we?" Mero purred seductively.

Needing no further encouragement, Ivana had already started leading the way towards the focal point of the extravagantly decorated bedchamber, the enormous mahogany wood four poster bed. Mero boldly claimed that the bed had once belonged to the most infamous prince of depravity, the Marquis De Sade.

Leaving a trail of cast off clothing on the Persian rug, the now naked trio found themselves on the king sized bed as mouths explored, legs and arms intertwined. As Apollonia lay underneath Ivana, Marcus positioned himself behind the countess. The Frenchman observed as Ivana kissed Apollonia once again, and then started to lick her neck, slowly making her way down towards the stiff peaks on the Sicilian girl's chest. Mero thought he would go mad with desire as he saw Ivana take Apollonia's left nipple into her expert mouth and begin to suckle it hard and fast causing the chambermaid to arch her back off the mattress as she moaned with abandon.

Mero could not hold back any longer, and he placed his hands firmly on Ivana's hips. Then with one long, powerful thrust he entered his mistress' hot, wet vagina. Meanwhile, Ivana had already kissed her way down the girl's stomach and was readying herself to bury her face between Apollonia's trembling legs to devour the sweetness that dwelled within. Mero continued to shove his engorged member into the countess with increasing exertion, as Ivana's mouth and tongue explored and savored the chambermaid's womanhood. Their efforts were building to a fever pitch as moans and sighs filled the room.

Apollonia could not contain her pleasure when she felt the other woman's tongue begin to stimulate her swollen clitoris. The ministrations from Ivana's mouth were almost unbearable and she prayed for sweet release. After a few more strokes from the Russian's tongue, Apollonia's prayers were answered. She cried out with total abandon as her body was racked with spasm after spasm of rapture.

She was soon silenced when Ivana rose up to kiss her passionately. Apollonia returned the kiss, tasting herself on the Ivana's lips.

Marcus was now at the point of no return as he plunged himself deeper and deeper into the countess causing her to scream with delight. As the mayor of Paris continued to penetrate her, Ivana groaned with pleasure as she felt Apollonia caress and suckle her breasts. The Italian seductress then placed her hand on Ivana's pelvic mound then slid two fingers back and forth furiously to stimulate her clit as she continued to suck on Ivana's erect nipples.

Just then, Marcus was swept up in a tidal wave of indescribable bliss as he burst inside Ivana's tight, snug vagina sending a hot steady stream of semen deep into her crevices. She too had started to come from the incessant stimulation of Apollonia's fingers, her vaginal walls started to constrict and expand around Mero's pulsating penis, increasing the intensity of his climax. Still riding the crest of their mutual orgasm, Mero and Ivana failed to notice that the bedroom door had opened and closed quietly. Apollonia thought she heard the sound of footsteps approaching the bed, but quickly dismissed the notion when Mero bestowed her with a kiss. The scents of sex and perspiration were co-mingling in the air.

The sated trio had all fallen into a heap of flesh upon the bed, basking in the afterglow of their union when suddenly the unmistakable voice of Madame Mero rang out.

"I see you've wasted no time in putting the new maid to work, my love."

The shock was evident on the faces of three occupants of the bed. Apollonia was suddenly struck with a severe case of modesty and quickly snatch up the crumpled bedcover, dragging it over her body. On the other hand, after the initial surprise wore off, Ivana made no effort to conceal her nudity. She lay on her back with her legs spread wide open, unabashedly exposing herself to Penelope as she smiled a devilish grin from ear to ear.

Mero, being the spineless weakling that he was, leapt off the bed and quickly threw a black satin robe over himself then began to make excuses to his wife.

"Penelope, you don't understand…I was simply introducing the Countess Kasinsky to…"

Unruffled and somewhat amused at her husband's pitiful attempt to obscure the obvious she finished his sentence for him, "…the chambermaid. Yes, I can see why it would be so important for you to introduce a member of high society, even a slut like the countess, to the hired help."

"_Sacre bleu,_ woman! I don't need to explain myself to you! I am man after all, and I have needs, needs that you won't or can't fulfill!"

"I have heard this argument before Marcus, and frankly it's tiresome, as are your infidelities. I could care less whom you stick your dick into these days, and judging from your taste in your sexual partners, neither do you."

Penelope's last comment finally got a rise out of Ivana; her green eyes flashing with hate, her Russian temper got the better of her as she tried to lunge towards her rival. Her attempt to attack her lover's wife was thwarted however when Mero managed to catch her by the waist and pull her back towards him.

The Russian was thrashing in her lover's arms violently trying to break free as she screamed at Penelope, "You French whore! I'll scratch your eyes out! How dare you speak me this way! I am a countess!"

Madame Mero remained serene, her sensuous lips curled up in a superior smile as she responded to Ivana's insults, "Yes, you are a countess but your title is meaningless since noble blood does not run in your veins. If my memory serves, you were servicing the filthy Cossacks as a camp follower when your poor husband found you."

Ivana, who was now in a full blown rage, finally broke free from Mero's grasp. She let out a battle cry and ran towards Penelope with her hands stretched out in front of her resembling two talons with razor sharp claws. Madame Mero was completely unfazed as the countess came hurtling towards her.

Time seemed to come to an almost screeching halt as Mero cried out, "Ivana, no!" What transpired next only took a few minutes, but to everyone involved it seemed like an eternity.

The Frenchman's wife quickly reached down to lift the hem of her tight dress to reveal a shapely leg adorned with a garter belt to hold up her silk stockings. Stuffed into her legging was a small pearl handle .22 caliber pistol, which she removed skillfully. Raising her weapon, Penelope aimed it at her enemy, waiting for the precise moment to fire the gun.

Yes that's it. Come on, you miserable little bitch, Penelope thought with disdain.

Then when Ivana was only a few inches away from reaching her, Madame Mero took her shot, sending a single bullet dead center into the countess' forehead. Apollonia screamed in horror as she watched the woman that had pleasured her just a few moments earlier drop dead at Penelope's feet.

Not missing a beat, Madame Mero turned on her heel and aimed her weapon in the chambermaid's direction. Before pulling the trigger once more she smiled wryly at the terrified girl then said, "By the way my dear, you're fired." Then she fired her pistol, smiling with satisfaction as she watch the bullet penetrate Apollonia's chest, causing her heart to explode on impact.

Horrified, Marcus yelled at wife, "_Mon Dieu_, Penelope! Look what you've done! You've killed the countess! As for poor Apollonia, how do you expect we run a household, if you keep killing the help?"

Penelope returned her weapon back to its hiding place around her thigh then said, "Well, my love, you know what they say, good help is so hard to find. As for the countess, let's just say that she over stayed her welcome. Anyway, none of that is important right now. The reason I came to see you was to let you know that more of our guests have started to arrive. So be a good boy and get dressed."

Then she turned to make her exit out her husband's bedroom, pausing briefly to cast a look over her shoulder in Marcus' direction and said, "Be a dear, won't you and get your goons to clean up this mess. I have to freshen up before greeting our guests."

Mero's hate filled eyes watched as his wife finally exited his bedchamber. It was only after she had left that he suddenly had the courage to yell out, "You bitch! I hate you!"

He then quickly walked over to the night table on the side his bed. His hand reached down to pick up the receiver of the telephone that sat on the surface of the night stand. Casting a sorrowful glance over to his fallen mistress, Mero placed the receiver to his ear. My poor Ivana, he thought glumly, if there was one woman in this world I would have even considered loving, it would have been you, _cheri'._

Placing his long index finger in the holes of the rotary dial of the telephone, Marcus Mero dialed the number to reach the cavernous chambers of his goon squad which resided in the bowels of the château. The phone was picked up on the first ring then Mero heard the clipped voice belonging to the deadlier of his henchmen, Christian, one of the albino twins.

"You need us, master?"

"Yes," replied Mero.

"Has our mistress been naughty again?" Christian asked in a slithery tone.

Mero snapped back at him, "I don't have time for your sick bullshit, Christian! Just get your brother and come to my chamber, now!" He hung up with phone with a resounding slam then sat down on the edge of the bed, with his head in his hands to wait for the clean up crew.

* * *

Teresa sat on the edge of her bunk, her long slim fingers worked quickly to lace up her combat boots. Her head suddenly shot up when she heard the metallic clunk of someone knocking on her door.

"Who is it?" her voice rang out.

"It's Tommy, may I come in?" came the tentative reply.

The irritation in her voice was evident as she told him enter her dank and cold quarters. Her cerulean eyes watched as the tall pale young man carefully made his way into her room. He then stood before her in a rigid stance staring straight ahead in an attempt to keep proper military protocol.

Teresa smirked at him then said, "At ease, Ackerman, you don't have to be so formal with me. You're the One after all."

Displeased with her sarcasm, Tommy retorted, "Look, Teresa, I didn't come for an argument. I simply wanted to wish you good luck with our upcoming assignment."

Teresa rose from the bed and strode up to him. She looked deep into his brown eyes and said haughtily "Now that's funny, I thought we didn't need any luck with someone like you around, messiah."

The anger he always tired to keep under wraps was slowly building in Tommy. He couldn't understand why Teresa demonstrated so much hostility towards him. If she only knew how he truly felt about her and that every time she slighted him it hurt like hell. He was beginning to regret his decision to seek her out, but something had compelled him to do so in the first place.

Ever since Captain Marcel had announced the details of their mission, Tommy had felt a sense of dread. He somehow knew that one of them was not going to make it back to the ship alive and he'd be damned if he would allow another day to go by without revealing his love for Teresa. If he didn't tell her now, then he might not ever get another chance.

Teresa stood with her hands on her hips smirking at him, when suddenly Tommy rushed at her like as charging rhino, pushing the First Officer towards the far end of her living quarters, slamming her slender athletic body against the cold metal bulkhead of the ship. Teresa was struggling to get away, but the weight of Tommy's frame made it impossible for her to make her escape. This was not a training program where she could bend the rules; this was the Real World where she had to adhere to the laws of physics.

"You're hurting me," she spat at him.

"Good, it's about time you feel some pain! Do you have any clue what it feels like to have someone you care about treat you like dog shit day after day? No, you don't, because you don't love anyone, ice princess! Well let me tell you something, despite the fact that you have a heart of stone, I love you! Do you hear me? I love you, you miserable bitch!"

Tommy had been screaming at the top of his lungs, the pained look in his eyes had both frightened and fascinated Teresa. Panting wildly, she suddenly felt a certain kinship for him, recognizing the emotion of unrequited love from the desperation on his face. Not knowing what drove her to do it; she suddenly reached up and placed her hand against his cheek.

That simple gesture of kindness opened a flood gate of repressed emotions in Tommy, as tears suddenly welled up in his eyes, spilled over and streamed down his pallid complexion. Ashamed, he turned away from Teresa, but she twisted his face back to look at her.

"Tommy, I didn't know, I swear to you. I had no idea that you felt the way you did."

Giving her a crooked little smile he responded, "Why would you? How could you possibly see anything when you only have eyes for Captain Marcel?"

Her face turned beet red as her greatest secret was wrenched out of the deepest recesses of her heart.

"H-how do you know?" she stammered.

Tommy slowly relinquished his tight grip of her as he responded, 'C'mon Teresa, it's a plain as the nose on your face. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to tell that you're in love with someone.

At first I thought that you didn't want anything to do with me because you had such a crappy track record with men. As time went on though I could see that it wasn't just me you had a problem with. Hermes had also made a play for you, but you didn't even give him the time of day. It didn't take long to figure out that the reason for your attitude was because of the captain."

Almost feeling relieved that she could share her secret with someone she said,"How could you tell? I thought that I kept up good façade about the whole thing, " looking downward, she sighed then said, "but I guess I couldn't fool the One."

Tommy smiled at her as he responded, "Look, you know as well as I do that my powers do not extend into the Real World. It was really just a matter of deduction. Hermes and I were out. Athena and Thor are a couple and the Sandman has a wife back in Zion. The only man left on this ship that could have garnered your affections is Captain Marcel. At first I thought, 'Nah, he's her stepfather, and way older', but the way you always looked at him gave you away."

"The way I look at him? Don't be such an idiot, Tommy!" she retorted her as her ocean blue eyes flashed with anger.

"Teresa, you look at Marcel the same way I look at you," he said quietly.

Suddenly she felt panic stricken, Teresa worried that Tommy might have shared his revelations with someone else on the ship.

Grapping the front of his tattered sweater, Teresa whirled Tommy around and tossed him towards the metallic shelf that served as her desk. Reaching into her boot, she retrieved the handmade knife that she kept on her person for protection. It lacked the grace and elegance of the weapons she wielded in the Matrix, but it served its purpose well. She now held the highly sharpened blade against Tommy's vulnerable neck, keeping him pinned against the edge of desk with her angular body.

"Who else knows? Tell me or I'll bleed you like a pig! Do you understand me, Ackerman?" her voice was a vicious whisper; her breath was hot against his ear.

"N-no one, I s-swear! Your secret is safe with me! I promise!" Tommy said desperately. His eyes searched hers for a sign of the compassion she had shown him earlier, but all he saw was the haunted look of a wild animal.

The edge of blade was starting to dig deeper into his skin and he was afraid that Teresa might made good on her threat. He had to distract her somehow, catch her off guard or she would kill him for sure. Think Ackerman, think, he told himself, you have to do something fast or she's going to use your guts as garters!

So he did the only thing he could do, what he had to do if he was going to survive. He kissed her.

At first, Teresa recoiled and tried to break the kiss, but Tommy's mouth was unrelenting. Somehow this kiss was different from the one they had shared in the training program. His lips seemed softer, his tongue, which had successfully made it past the barrier of her clenched teeth, was strong, commanding but not overbearing. As he slid his tongue alongside hers, Teresa let out a small groan. Tommy placed his strong hands on her back and gathered her up in his arms, pressing his warm body into hers.

As the kiss deepened, Teresa dropped her knife onto the floor. Involuntarily, she ran her slender nimble fingers through his blue black hair, feeling the need for human contact increasing with each heated kiss. Her body was reacting to basic impulses that had lain dormant in her for so long. Each caress, every kiss was slowly bringing her to life.

In the meanwhile Tommy's hands had slid down her back to cup her firm buttocks. He scooped her up so that he could grind his pelvis into hers. Teresa gasped when she felt his rigid manhood through his pants. Tommy moved his mouth from hers so that he could nibble at her long neck, then he whispered in her ear, "I love you, Teresa. God help me I love you."

Teresa had been caught up in the primal needs of her body, but the sound of his voice caused her heart to be gripped by fear and snapped her back to reality. No, I can't do this, her mind screamed, this is wrong! I love Marcel! Placing her hands on Tommy's chest, Teresa pushed him away from her with all her might.

Puzzled and still very much aroused, Tommy asked, "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" He then tried to reach for her, but she stepped aside to avoid his touch.

Averting her gaze away from his, Teresa declared, "We can't do this, _I_ can't do this. It's wrong. Look Tommy, I won't lie to you, yes I'm attracted to you but I don't love you. I don't want to lead you on, do you understand?"

Tommy's heart broke as the realization of his situation was made clear to him, Teresa would never be his, no matter what he did. His anguish quickly turned to bafflement however as Ophelia's words reverberated in his mind:

_The path of the One is paved by the many. You and Teresa must join forces if we are to win the war._

How could they join forces if they were worlds apart? He loved her, wanted her with every breath he took, but if she did not return his feelings then all was lost. If they were meant to be nothing more than comrades in arms, why did he feel this overwhelming love for Teresa? What purpose did it serve in the whole scheme of things? From his viewpoint, it served no purpose at all. He resigned himself to fight alongside her if nothing else.

Angry and frustrated by letting his emotions get the better of him, he scolded himself, I am the One and I need to get my focus back to where it belongs. Humanity is the middle of a war, a fight for our right to exist on this planet and I'll be damned if anything or anyone is going to get in the way of that.

He looked over at Teresa, who had folded her arms in front of her. Somehow she seemed fragile and vulnerable. A lost little girl had taken the place of the fierce warrior if only for the moment.

"All right, Nova," he said, calling her by her code name in an attempt to distance himself from her, "Have it your way, but know this: you're throwing away any chance of being happy. I'm real, not some fantasy in your head! When you're ready to let go of your school girl crush, I'll be waiting. Don't worry; I won't let the rest of the crew know just how foolish you are!"

The solider rose once again in Teresa as she lifted her face to scowl at him.

"Get the fuck out of my quarters while you still have the chance!" she hissed angrily.

Just then the familiar beeping sound from the ship's intercom system could be heard throughout the vessel. Then the commanding voice of their captain came booming over the airwaves:

"_Attention everyone, this is your captain speaking. All members of the away team please report to bridge immediately. Entry into the Matrix will commence in five minutes_._"_

Tommy opened the heavy door of her quarters then gave Teresa a little bow of false gallantry and said, "Ladies first, after you."

As Teresa brushed past him to cross the threshold she retorted with, "Fuck you, Ackerman."

As they walked down the narrow companion way that led to the bridge, Tommy muttered under his breath, "I wish."

* * *

Final preparations were being made for social event of the season, Leopold Braun's congratulatory party. His sister Eva had overseen every detail, leaving nothing to chance. She wanted everything to be perfect, the wine, the food, and the music had to be just right. Nothing was too good for her little brother and she spared no expense. Eva had always fancied herself for having a flair for the dramatic. Wanting to add an air of mystery to the festivities, the theme for the evening would be a masquerade ball.

Eva was very grateful for Marcus Mero's gracious hospitality in allowing her to throw the party in his lavish country home. The château was glorious monument to French architecture and its beauty rivaled even the great palace of Versailles. The Meros had impeccable taste, Eva had noticed, as she marveled at the elegance of the furnishings, the priceless works of art that hung on the walls and antiques.

A twinge of envy gripped her when she realized that her attempts at decorating were gaudy by comparison. No matter how Eva tried to manipulate the Matrix's code, she couldn't duplicate the splendor of the Meros' mansion. No matter, she thought, tonight my brother and I will be the center of attention.

As she walked throughout the vastness of the palatial estate, she would bark orders to the domestic staff with authority of a drill sergeant.

"Keep polishing that silver! I want to be able to see my reflection in the spoons!"

Next, Eva picked up a crystal champagne flute from the row that was lined up on the long dining hall table. Her brow furrowed in disapproval when she noticed water spots dotting the wine glass. With glass in hand, Eva turned around to face two hapless maids.

"These glasses are filthy! I want you to wash them again!"

One of the maids spoke up, "But Madame Braun, there are over 300 glasses, do you expect us to wash them all?"

Eva unleashed her ferocity as she screeched her response, "You will do as I say! I have been given the full run of this house for the duration of the weekend and as such my word is the law! Wash these glasses now or you will find yourselves tossed out on your collective asses! Have I made myself clear?"

The maids replied in timid unison before scurrying away, "_Oui_, Madame Braun."

Eva then turned her attention to the elaborate array of flowers, inspecting each arrangement and centerpiece with a critical eye. When everything was to her satisfaction, she made her way towards the foyer. The sound of an all too familiar feminine voice had made her stop in her tracks.

"_Monsieur Mero, I can't be being to thank you for inviting us into your lovely home." _

"_Think nothing of it, my petite fleur," Marcus Mero said affectionately. Then he continued to say, "My home is your home. If there is anything I can do to make your stay more pleasant, please do not hesitate to ask."_

_Then another man's voice brusquely interrupted the exchange between the woman and Mero, "Uh, thank you Marcus, but if there is anything that my fiancé needs, I will be the one to see that she gets it."_

Eva couldn't help but smile when she recognized the dour tones of Commandant Schmidt. Well, well, well, Schmidt had decided to flaunt his little Jew bitch after all, thought Eva maliciously. Not wanting to wait to make her presence known, Eva quickened her steps and entered the foyer.

"Lydia, darling, I'm so glad that you've accepted my invitation!" Eva said as she approached a stunned Fraulein Rhinehart.

"Hello Eva," Lydia said dryly. Her cold sapphire eyes stared her most hated enemy down.

Eva still kept up appearances and greeted Commandant Schmidt warmly. Schmidt returned her welcome with a curt bow. His steel blue eyes looked upon Hitler's mistress with derision.

Mero not taking notice of the cold reception Eva had received by the handsome couple, called out to his butler.

"Jacques, please show the commandant and his fiancé to their guest room immediately and see to it that their luggage is brought right away."

Jacques, who was a tall, gaunt man with hollow deep set eyes acknowledged his master's orders and quickly motioned for Schmidt and Lydia to follow him up the winding staircase.

Lydia shuddered as she watched the servant walk ahead of them. She couldn't help thinking that Jacques resembled an undertaker rather than a butler. Finally, when Schmidt and Lydia were alone in their guest suite, she said, "I can't believe that bitch actually had the nerve to say hello to me, after everything she's done!"

For once, Schmidt was in agreement with his usually idiotic fiancé, "Yes, her hypocrisy knows no bounds. Well no matter, she will be dealt with soon enough, mark my words."

Curious to know his plans for Eva Braun, Lydia asked, "How? How will she be dealt with? You must tell me!"

Schmidt suddenly feeling very amorous slowly walked over to her. He wrapped his powerful arms around Lydia's slender mid-section and kissed her forcefully on her lusciously ruby lips.

After the passionate kiss ended, Schmidt looked deeply into Lydia's eyes and stated, "Don't worry your pretty little head over it. How and when I will deal with my enemies is my concern." Then he grabbed her hand and placed it firmly on his crotch and in a heated whisper said, "Besides the only thing you should be concerned with is fucking me."

Lydia let out a giggle and said, "Schmidt you're insatiable! You're like a machine!"

Schmidt smiled as he replied, "You have no idea."

End Chapter Fifteen


	16. Commence Le Festival

The Wages of War

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to the Matrix Trilogy or the characters. I do own the idea for this story. This is an alternate universe period piece set during WW II and although some of the characters may resemble Neo, Trinity and even Smith, don't be fooled. This is another time, another Matrix.

A/N: The party is in full swing. Captain Marcel and the away team have entered the Matrix and are poised to infiltrate Mero's chateau. Hopes are high, passions burn and tragedy strikes before the night is over. Read on dear readers, if you dare!

Chapter Sixteen

Commence le Festival

Lydia Rhinehart twirled around in front of the full-length mirror, trying to get a better look at her reflection. Her ruby red taffeta gown made a rustling sound as she moved, managing to get the attention of her lover, Commandant Schmidt. He slowly walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around his fiancé's waist.

He nuzzled her neck and said huskily, "You look wonderful, my little strawberry, I could just gobble you up."

Lydia's body, still tingling from their recent vigorous lovemaking, was starting to feel the delicious sensation of arousal once more. As much as she would have loved to give in to her growing hunger for Schmidt's ardent touch, the sound of the orchestra playing downstairs signaled that it was time to join the festivities.

"Schmidt we have to go the party! Haven't you had enough sex for one day?"

Grinding his pelvis into her backside, Schmidt growled his response, "I can never get enough you. I thought you knew that by now."

Dismissing his attempts to get her back into bed, Lydia pulled out Schmidt's possessive embrace. She walked over to the dresser, picked up two masquerade masks and held them out in front of her.

"Please, my love," Lydia pleaded with the commandant, "let's hurry or we'll be late."

Schmidt quickly closed the gap between himself and the object of his rampant desire. Wordlessly, he gathered the crimson clad woman into the greedy grip of his well muscled arms. Astonished by his abruptness, Lydia did not have a chance to protest as Schmidt rapidly carried her towards the bedroom door, forcefully slamming her body against it. The masks were scattered to the floor below her. At first her heart was flooded with an overpowering sense of panic as horrible memories of Schmidt's past abuse filled her head. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her as the instinctive "fight or flight" response took over. Balling her small delicate hand into a fist, Lydia prepared to bury it into the commandant's rock hard abdomen, when something in Schmidt's azure eyes caused her to halt her attempts to fight and flee.

In his eyes she saw pure, unadulterated, rabid lust. Relieved, she gave her lover a come hither look as her sapphire eyes mirrored Schmidt's insatiable passion. Needing no further encouragement, Schmidt desperately captured Lydia's luscious mouth with his own. Her mouth opened, inviting his tongue to dance with hers. Schmidt groaned deeply, reveling in the sensation of their joined mouths. His hands began to roam all over her body, caressing the creamy white flesh of her exposed shoulders, the tops of her breasts, and her tightly corseted waist. Reaching around her, Schmidt cupped her buttocks and drew her close so that there pelvises were perfectly aligned with one another. With a rhythm that was as old as time, he began to grind himself into her through their clothing as they kissed each other hungrily.

When at last Lydia felt Schmidt's hot, wet mouth trail from her lips to her neck, she whispered his name then said, "I need you, I want you, my love."

Schmidt left the warmth of her neck to look deeply into her eyes, his voice was hoarse and heavy with lust as he said, "Tell me what you want."

Her response was feral and primal, "Fuck me."

With a deep grunt, Schmidt crushed Lydia's body against the door once more. Quickly, she hiked up the bottom half of her grown revealing the fact that she wore no undergarments. As Schmidt hastily fumbled with his belt and pants with one hand, he inserted two fingers from the other into Lydia's warm and moist center. Slowly he started moving his digits in and out her, causing her to whimper with delight. Schmidt estimated that she was very close to reaching her peak from the increasing contraction of her vaginal walls.

He withdrew his fingers, which were now slick with her feminine secretions. Curiosity got the better of him as he looked at his wet digits with fascination. He had never had the desire to taste the sexual emissions of any of the women he had been with in the past, but something about the glistening viscous substance was stirring an overwhelming need to put his inquisitiveness to rest once and for all. As Lydia looked on, Schmidt hesitantly placed his fingers into his mouth, slowly licking them clean with his tongue. Surprisingly, the taste was not unpleasant, in fact it reminded Schmidt of honey, and there was another element, the salinity of the sea. The combination was intoxicatingly delicious and he wanted more. There was only one way to get it, he would have to draw it out from its source between Lydia's legs.

Keeping her pinned against the door, he slid his hands to her buttocks, pushing Lydia up above his head. Instinctively, she draped her long legs over his shoulders as Schmidt face was now eye level with her exposed vagina. Lydia was drunk with desire, hardly believing that her lover was finally going to bestow to her the most intimate of kisses. Schmidt wasted no time in burying his face into the hot wet sweetness of her molten core as his hands effortlessly kept her hoisted above the ground. His tongue and lips devoured, explored and teased, working Lydia into a fevered frenzy. Her fingers had entwined themselves into his dark auburn hair as her lover's mouth began to suckle her clitoris. He sucked the sensitive nub gently at first, and then he increased the suction of his eager mouth. Lydia moaned loudly as Schmidt continued to suck her for all he was worth. Finally he was rewarded for his efforts as he felt Lydia start spasm over and over again as she cried out with total abandon. Schmidt's mouth did not want to relinquish Lydia just yet, as his tongue continued to lap up the sweet fluid oozing out of her as a result of her earth shattering climax.

When his thirst was completely quenched, Schmidt lifted his face from between her trembling legs to seek out Lydia's waiting mouth. Lowering her head toward Schmidt she met him halfway, crushing her lips to his. Their tongues intertwined and Lydia groaned with passion as she tasted her salty remnants on her lover's lips. Schmidt broke their kiss so that he could allow Lydia to remove her legs from his broad shoulders, which she quickly wrapped tightly around his waist. She then placed her hands on his upper arms and braced herself for impact. Schmidt quickly reached down to finish undoing his pants and unleashed his achingly erect member.

He looked deeply into her eyes and just before he entered her he asked her once more with a hoarse whisper, "What do you want, Lydia, and how do you want it?"

"Fuck me, Schmidt! Hard!" she begged desperately.

Her words ignited his body; as he allowed the savage in him to take over. With a throaty grunt, he swiftly penetrated Lydia, filling her insides completely with rock hard flesh.

Schmidt kept his eyes locked on Lydia's so that he could drink in her reactions of what he was about to do to her. Being painfully aware that her back was still butted up against the door, Lydia prepared herself as best she could to receive the exquisite torment of Schmidt's rough lovemaking.

He showed her no mercy and she asked for none as he shoved his girth into her deeply and rapidly causing her to cry out for more. She wrapped her legs even tighter around him and started to push her body forward, matching his rhythm. Not to be outdone, Schmidt increased the severity of his thrusts causing Lydia's body to be slammed into the door with such force; the wood was starting to crack and splinter on the other side. The banging sounds created from their wild copulation reverberated down the hall, coaxing Marcus Mero to leave the sanctuary of his boudoir to investigate the source of the ruckus. Jesus Christ, he thought angrily, I've told Hitler a thousand times not to let his officers interrogate rebels here!

The Frenchman hurriedly walked down the hall, trying to find the cause of the obtrusive noises. Not surprisingly he found himself standing before the door of Commandant Schmidt's guest suite. As his eyes fell upon the surface of the entrance way, Mero was appalled by what he saw. The oak door was severely cracked in several places. It will cost a fortune to replace it, he lamented woefully. Well, I will let Adolf pay for his officers' destruction of my home. If these Nazis think they can just come here and do as they please, they are sadly mistaken!

He raised his hand and was about to knock on the door when his ears suddenly picked up the unmistakable sound of a woman's groans in the throes of passion.

"_Fuck me, Schmidt! Harder, goddamn you! I can take it; give me all you've got!"_

Her demands were met with another powerful thrust that caused the door to almost come off its hinges. Mero jumped back a bit then flung his arm over his face to avoid the flurry of wood splinters from invading his eyes. The moans and sighs increased in frequency as Mero continued to eavesdrop just outside the suite.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the door, Schmidt was bucking his hips wildly, grunting like a fierce beast, plunging himself deeper and deeper into Lydia's yielding folds, until finally he erupted inside her. He cried out her name as she too started to climax. Their eyes never lost contact with each other, as they marveled at the power of their mutual orgasms. When their bliss had subsided, Schmidt kissed her deeply in appreciation.

After breaking their kiss, Lydia panted, "I love you."

Schmidt smiled as he responded, "I know."

Still standing in the hallway, Mero couldn't help but smile as he whispered, "_Vive le amour." _Then he silently made his retreat back to his bedchamber from whence he came.

* * *

After they had recomposed themselves from their disheveled appearance, Schmidt and Lydia readied themselves to join the party down stairs. Lydia had recovered the masks from the floor and was offering one to Schmidt. His azure eyes appraised the disguise suspiciously. This whole thing is such a farce, Schmidt thought angrily. Why do these stupid people try to camouflage their appearance with a flimsy mask, when I or any other SS officer can read their code and detect their true identity? It's trivial and pointless, like everything else that is associated with humans. 

Schmidt reached out and hastily grabbed the simple black mask out of Lydia's outstretched hand. Quickly, he slipped it on over his head, adjusting it over bridge of his nose. Lydia had already put hers on. It was fiery red, adorned with long crimson plumage and faux rubies and rhinestones. As she looked admiringly at her future husband, Lydia couldn't help but smile. Schmidt was a dashing figure, made even more handsome by the tuxedo he had chosen to wear that evening, instead of his military uniform. His eyes, accentuated by the dark mask, were burning blue flame in their wake. The mere sight of him made her weak at the knees.

Lydia's sultry sapphire eyes followed the decisive but elegant man as he steadily made his way to the large oak wood armoire. Schmidt carefully opened the door panels, reached inside and retrieved his sidearm from its hiding place. He leisurely slid the Luger into the snug holster that he was wearing underneath the very stylish dinner jacket. Lydia frowned a bit since she was hoping that Schmidt, for at least one night, would forget about matters of state and just enjoy himself. She knew, however, that try as she might, Schmidt was a dedicated officer through and through, and there was nothing Lydia could do that would change his commitment to the Reich.

Commandant Schmidt on the other hand, felt that it was very necessary to carry his weapon. Hitler would be presiding over the event and his security could not be left in the hands of his incompetent underlings. Captain Johansen was a good officer, obedient and carried out orders with no questions asked. However he lacked drive and imagination. Braun, on the other hand, was scheming, ambitious and self serving. All three traits were very admirable and expected for the officers of the SS, but one day they will prove to be the key to Braun's undoing.

Schmidt cast aside his brooding thoughts for now and gallantly offered his arm to Lydia, which she happily accepted by slipping her hand into the crook of Schmidt's elbow. Casting a sideways glance toward his intended, he asked, "Shall we?"

"By all means, my darling," Lydia replied with a voice tinged with excitement.

* * *

The away team from the Morpheus had materialized in the Matrix via the assistance of their old collaborator, the Facilitator. His abandoned meat packing plant still served the rebels well as the perfect conduit between worlds. 

"Is everything ready?" Captain Marcel asked his long time ally upon the away team's arrival.

"Yes," replied the tall longhaired man. He then gave Marcel a confident grin, which revealed his crooked rotten teeth.

"Good," said Marcel, then he turned to his second in command and stated, "Nova, you, Tommy and Marie will go on ahead to the party. You have been furnished with perfect replicas of the official invitations that were sent out by the Meros. You will have no problem getting inside.

Security will be tight, and no doubt that Mero will insist that all of his guests be searched for weapons, with the exception of military personnel. You needn't worry, though. The Sandman has studied the blueprints of the chateau and found that there is a virtual arsenal of weapons in the trophy room. Get to that room quickly and arm yourselves as best you can. The Facilitator and I on the other hand will take an alternate route to avoid capture by the Nazis but I will join you all soon enough to carry out our mission."

"Be careful, my love," Marie worriedly addressed her husband and captain.

Marcel placed his strong hands gently on his wife's shoulders and gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, _Mon Cherie_, I will be alright. You just stay close to Tommy and Nova is that clear?"

Marie nodded her head in affirmation of her husband's instructions then stood on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss on the lips for luck. When the kiss ended, Marcel ran his hands down Marie's arms, and grasped her hands gently. He pushed her away from him slightly so that he could get a better look at her. Marcel smiled lovingly at his wife, as he thought that she had never looked so beautiful. Although the full -length cream colored off the shoulder gown she was wearing was nothing more than a simulation, Marie's Residual Self Image was breathtaking.

As husband and wife were bidding each other _adieu_, Teresa looked on with jealous eyes. It was tearing her apart to watch her mother be the recipient of the love that she thought rightfully belonged to her. When she could not stand the sight of the sentimental farewell between her parents, Teresa turned her eyes away only to find Tommy's gaze on her. Was that disapproval she saw in those dark orbs or was it something else? Sympathy perhaps? Or maybe it was just the look from a kindred spirit, mirroring her erroneous desire for a love that is not meant to be. Envy and pain, however, were soon replaced by an emotion she knew all too well, rage, burning inside her like a fire in the pit of her stomach. It was an ever-present roaring flame that fueled her warrior side but if left to burn too long, threatened to consume her. Teresa knew there was only one thing that could quell the storm brewing in her heart: carry out her mission and take out as many of those Nazi bastards as she could.

Teresa loudly announced, "It's time to go! Let's get the lead out! We don't have time for this sentimental bullshit!"

As she walked towards the waiting 1942 silver Jaguar, Tommy followed Teresa, then his hand reached out to try to grab her arm. Abruptly spinning around, locking her frigid blue eyes onto Tommy's she growled, "Touch me, and that hand will never touch anything else again!"

Quickly, he dropped his hand back down to his side. Even though Teresa appeared demure and very feminine in her designer black ball gown, Tommy knew better. The entity that was Nova was now in full possession of Teresa's being, and when that happened, it was best just to get the hell out of her way.

As Nova opened the car door and slipped into the driver's seat, she rudely honked the horn in an attempt to get Marie's attention. She smiled a cold cruel smile when she observed that she had succeeded in startling her mother.

Captain Marcel was a bit put off by the behavior of his first officer, but nonetheless, he understood the urgency of their situation. He gave Marie one final kiss and said, "Hurry, my love. Come back safe to me."

Marie smiled sadly as she replied, "You do the same. Godspeed, Marcel."

She then quickly turned away from the man that she loved and started walking towards the waiting automobile.

As Marcel watched Tommy help Marie into the car he couldn't shake the sense of foreboding growing in his heart. Somehow it felt as if he would never see his wife again. His feelings of anxiety intensified as he watched Teresa drive the powerful vehicle out of the bay doors of the old loading dock. The engine revved and roared as the Jaguar sped away at top speed only to disappear into the enveloping darkness of the night.

* * *

Penelope Mero was standing alone at the foot of staircase waiting for that peacock of a husband of hers. She had been greeting the arriving guests alone for over an hour and still her husband had not come downstairs to grace everyone with his presence. Marcus is probably still brooding about our little "misunderstanding", silly man he'll just have to get over it, Penelope surmised. 

The lady of the house did her best to conceal her anger by graciously making each guest feel welcome in her splendiferous home. She was also peeved at Eva Braun, whom had taken over her house to throw this ludicrous affair. Eva had promised to help her greet their guests, but was now occupied with a trivial matter in the kitchen. She's probably stuffing her face from the dessert cart, that fat cow, Penelope thought maliciously.

Even her lover, Adolf Hitler had left her to fend for herself. His preoccupation to conquer the known world had seriously curtailed the frequency of their trysts, leaving Penelope frustrated and lonely. The Fuehrer still proclaimed his undying devotion to her, but Madame Mero knew all too well when a man's attentions would start to fade. Another mistress had laid claim to Adolf's heart, a dark demanding lover whose passion was dangerous and all consuming. Her name was war, and the power she unleashed was unrivaled. How could Penelope compete with Hitler's bloody Holocaust?

She buried her feelings of worthlessness and of being unloved by doing what she does best, to play the perfect and gracious hostess of Chateau Merovingian. Everyone she met had complimented Madame Mero on her beautiful gown. It was a violet colored dress with a plunging neckline and an almost bare back. The amethyst and diamond Harry Winston necklace and earrings she was wearing, was specifically designed for her and had been flown in from New York that morning. The jewels complimented her gown perfectly. Wanting to show off her new necklace she had decided to have her personal hairdresser, Bruno, sweep up her ebony tresses into an elegant up-do with just a hint of curly wisps of hair on either side of her exquisite face. To complete her look for the evening and give her a royal air, the top of Penelope's head was adorned with a diamond tiara. None of that seem to matter though, if there was no one that could appreciate her.

Just keep smiling, Penelope, she told herself, yes that's it, that artificial smile so that no one knows what a sham your life really is! Your husband is a good for nothing lout, who can't keep his hands off everything pretty young thing he sees. Your lover is a megalomaniacal racist with a Charlie Chaplin mustache! You sure know how to pick them, don't you Penelope?

"Good evening Madame Mero, might I say that you look lovely tonight?" a man's silky voice said from behind her. His tones had an almost musical quality; they were quite soothing to the ear. She quickly turned around to see who it was. The voice had belonged to the newly appointed Commandant Leopold Braun. He was staring at Penelope very intently with his pale blue eyes, taking her all in. The heat of his stare had caused Penelope to blush. She was at a loss for words, since she was not usually swayed by the charms of the average man. As an experienced woman, Penelope Mero usually rebuffed the attentions of young admirers, especially one as young as Braun. Although somehow, she knew that Braun was not like her usual potential suitors.

He was new program in the Matrix, this was his first incarnation, and despite his age and inexperience, he quickly had risen through the ranks of the Reich. It was an impressive feat, for such a young program. He had even managed to pique the Architect's interest. Now, there he stood and despite her better judgment, she thought he looked rather handsome. Braun had discarded his usual military attire and opted for an elegant Valentino tuxedo, with a white vest, cumber bund, and bowtie. His cufflinks were the only things that gave his military status away; they were diamond versions of the SS insignia. Commandant Braun appeared dashing and very virile.

Maybe things are looking up Penelope, she told herself. She then gave the young officer a slow seductive smile and said, "Well good evening, Monsieur Commandant. You must be very excited about tonight, since this party is in your honor."

Braun could hardly believe his luck, not only was he conversing with Madame Mero, she seemed to be pleased by his presence. He tried to choose his next words very carefully since he did not want to hinder his chances of possessing this beautiful creature later on that night. Although he was not programmed to be suave and debonair, Leopold relied on his observations of Commandant Schmidt's behavior to try to sweep Penelope off her feet. He searched his memory banks for the most appropriate phrase, when he was satisfied that he had found one, he gave Madame Mero an over confident grin.

Bowing gracefully before her, Braun took Penelope's hand in his and said in a grandiose tone," It would be a greater honor, for me, if you would find in your heart of hearts to favor me with a dance this evening. One dance with you, and I would die a happy man."

Seemingly disappointed, Penelope withdrew her hand from the overzealous commandant's grasp, furrowed her brow as she asked curtly, "Are you mocking me, Commandant Braun? Well I will have you know, that I am not a woman to be trifled with! If you think that you can make fun of me then I bid you _adieu _and goodnight!"

Penelope then turned on her heel in an attempt to leave the foyer in a huff, but Braun detained her by gently grabbing her arm. "If I've offended you, Madame Mero, I am truly sorry. I meant no disrespect. You must believe me, I would never dream of mocking you. It would be a great honor to dance with the most beautiful woman at this party. Please do not leave."

His words did sound sincere, could it be that this mere boy harbored some deep sentiment for her? There was only one way to find out.

Slowly Penelope turned back around to face Braun and smiled at him. However the smile she offered was not the one of the seductress or femme fatal, no it was a smile of genuine gratitude and something else, hope. Braun offered his arm, and was about to escort Penelope into the grand ballroom, when a booming voice halted their retreat. It was the master of the house, Marcus Mero.

"Well, my love, I see that you have been keeping our guest of honor busy, no?" he said in his flowery French accent as he made his descent down the ivory colored marble staircase. Penelope couldn't help but be thoroughly annoyed at the sound of her husband's silver-tongued voice. Bastard, she thought with disdain, it's just like him to want to make a grand entrance, that vain cocksucker!

Penelope tried to keep her composure, but her dark glaring eyes betrayed the fury that was bubbling underneath her perfectly coiffed countenance. She knew full well that Marcus would try to goad her into a nasty row to try to embarrass her in front of the young commandant. Madame Mero gave her husband a saccharine smile as she replied in a voice that would have sent chills down the average man's spine, "Yes, my love. Since you were so generous with your hospitality earlier today, I thought one good turn deserves another, _mon amour_."

She then slipped her beautifully manicured hand into the crook of Braun's waiting arm and said to him, "I believe they're playing our song, Commandant. Shall we?"

Braun flashed a brilliant smile and replied confidently, "Your wish is my command, Madame." Then he started to lead Penelope towards the ballroom, but not before she had the opportunity to tell her mortified husband, "Be a dear, Marcus, and greet our guests. I know how much you enjoy meeting with your adoring public."

* * *

The silver Jaguar was slowly cruising down the long path that led to the cobblestone circular driveway located at the front entrance of the Chateau Merovingian. Teresa skillfully drove the car around, then brought it to a full stop and waited for the valet to approach them. A dark haired young man wearing a neatly pressed pair of black slacks and a red jacket quickly opened the driver's side door and offered his hand to Teresa, but she waved it away as she got out of the car. It was quite obvious to the parking attendant that this beautiful yet determined young woman did not need his assistance in anyway. 

The valet waited patiently as the rest of the car's passengers disembarked. He gasped rather loudly as his eyes fell upon the woman in the ivory dress. She was almost the spitting image of the woman that had been driving the Jaguar. Shaking his head slightly as if to clear it, the valet feared his eyes were playing tricks on him. If he did not know better he could swear that the women were twins, mirror images of each other. Both were equally beautiful, but it was soon made obvious to the hapless servant that they were opposite sides of the same coin. In their black and white gowns they appeared to be Ying and Yang personified. Finally the last of the passengers was out of the car, a tall good-looking young man with a pale complexion and dark fathomless eyes. His handsome tuxedo seemed to be tailored made for him.

The well dressed young man offered an arm to each woman and said, "Well ladies, shall we?"

The woman in the cream colored gown, smiled sweetly at her escort and graciously took the arm being offered to her. However her dark counterpart hesitated slightly before relenting then awkwardly slipping her hand in the crook of the young man's remaining arm.

As Tommy, Teresa and her mother Marie, carefully walked up the stone steps that led to the enormous front door of the Chateau Merovingian, Teresa inhaled sharply as her eyes fell upon the two men that were guarding the entryway.

"Oh my god! It's those bloody twins! They'll recognize me for sure!" she whispered nervously to Tommy.

"Just relax and let me handle everything. I think that you two should put on your masks and for God's sake Nova, don't let your temper get the better of you, remember, cool heads will prevail!" Tommy said decisively.

Teresa hissed back," And you remember Ackerman, to keep your mind on the mission, not on my ass, is that clear?"

Marie chastised her daughter, "Teresa! Hold your tongue, we don't have the luxury of time for your bickering! We have to get inside and get to that trophy room as soon as possible! If we don't, then the mission is lost and we could all be captured!"

"Listen here, mother dear-" Teresa started to say, but Marie quickly cut her off.

"No, you need to shut up for once and listen, Teresa! I have stayed silent for too long while I've watched you become this cold, unfeeling thing! You're just like the machines we're trying to defeat and what saddens me the most is that you are too blinded by hate to see that! Well, I will no longer stand by and be quiet. I know that your hate is directed towards me because you think I abandoned you, left you to survive on your own, but nothing could be further from the truth!"

Teresa turned her eyes to her mother's anguished face and said, "Truth, mother? You wouldn't know what the truth is if it hit you on the head! The truth is you are a selfish woman who finally got a taste of what it was like to be with a real man and left your child behind to sow your wild oats!"

Tommy could no longer stand idly by and watch Teresa disrespectfully address her mother, he quickly put himself between the two feuding women before their battle could escalate any further. His dark eyes challengingly locked onto Teresa's as he whispered harshly, "You are an ungrateful spoiled brat and if I had the time, I'd take you over my knee and give you what's coming to you! How dare you speak to your mother that way? Everything that she has done, every sacrifice she's made, she did for you!

You don't know how lucky you are that you have a mother that loves you as much as she does. I've always wanted to know what it was like to have a mom, but mine died while giving birth to me, or so the machines say. Did you really think that all the while that you were separated from her that she was living in some kind of paradise without you? I don't know what hovercraft you've been living on, but The Morpheus isn't exactly Shangri La the last time I checked! Now, before we take another step, you apologize to your mother, or so help me I'll tan your hide, right here, right now!"

Teresa had been taken aback by Tommy's uncharacteristic anger and boldness. Every word that he had uttered had made her flinch as if he striking her with a cat-o-nine-tails. Undaunted, she picked up the length of her dress to try to scoot around the One, but he blocked her path by placing his arm in front of her. Again, she tried and failed to get around him as he swiftly moved his body in front of her. It was painfully obvious that there was only going to be one way that her path would be cleared.

Teresa was forced to contemplate her predicament, as she appeared to be rooted to the concrete steps underneath her high-heeled ankle strap sandals. An eternity of uncomfortable, unbearable silence seemed to be dragging on, until the fierce woman warrior cleared her throat and said quietly, "I'm sorry."

Placing his hand to his ear, Tommy pretended to strain to hear what Teresa had just said.

"What was that? I'm what?"

Teresa was seething with rage as she said behind clenched teeth, "I AM SORRY!"

Satisfied, Tommy lowered his hand from his ear and said, "Good, that's better, now put on your mask, we have a party to crash."

Marie looked at Tommy, with gratitude as she donned a pretty mask that resembled a swan's graceful features. Then it was Teresa's turn. Her mother and Tommy looked on as she slipped the black mask over her head. The bird like adornments on the mask gave Teresa the appearance of a bird of prey, a raven to be precise. Despite the harshness of her masquerade, Teresa looked beautiful nonetheless. A fact that did not escape the man that loved her beyond all reason. Tommy quickly put on his own mask then reached into the breast pocket of his tuxedo to retrieve the forged invitations.

As he handed each of his fellow rebels their engraved invitations, he gave them a sly wink and said, "OK ladies, its show time!"

Two ghostly apparitions stood silently guarding the front door of the their master's chateau. In spite of their white tailored tuxedos, the albino twins were a gruesome sight to behold. Although Marcus Mero had given them explicit instructions to conduct their search for weapons as discretely as possible, as usual they were compelled to disobey their employer for their own perverse amusement. Arriving guests were subjected to being thoroughly and uncomfortably frisked for longer than it was necessary. The women were left to feel violated while their male companions, too intimidated by the intensity of their own probing inspections, would impotently stand by without a word of protest.

As the twin known as Christian was finishing yet another humiliating examination of a helpless guest, the sound of his sibling's voice caused him to momentarily pause and turn his pale face in his brother's direction.

"Well brother, it looks like we'll really have some fun now. Look at what's coming up the steps," Athos silkily announced. He then pointed a long bony finger in the direction of a spectacular looking trio comprised of two striking women and their tall handsome young escort making their ascent up the wide stony steps.

Christian's almost translucent eyes fell upon the dark beauty wearing the black strapless ball gown, immediately becoming transfixed by her. Somehow he sensed that underneath the feathery mask was a face that was _tres magnifique. _The second woman was equally stunning yet Christian could not shake the inescapable feeling of déjà vu as he continually stared at the woman clad in black. There was something vaguely familiar about the dark angel that was steadily approaching he and Athos. Both brothers were now totally engrossed at leering at the women, while ignoring the man that accompanied them.

Finally two visions of loveliness stood before the ogling twins, trying to quickly to hand over their invitations and get inside where their destiny awaited them. However, the twins had no intention of letting them go just yet.

Christian looked Teresa up and down with lust filled eyes as he said, "Just a moment ladies, we have to make sure that you are not concealing any weapons,"

Athos chimed in, "Yes, we can't be too careful, especially with all of the foreign dignitaries running about."

Tommy protectively stepped in front of his fellow rebels, allowing his hard, lean body to become a human barricade. His dark eyes were trained on the anemic pasty complexions of his adversaries, staring them down as he said in the worst British accent ever uttered by an American, "I don't think that a search will be necessary. You aren't dealing with commoners! How dare you presume to try and put your hands on these refined ladies?"

Smirking and exuding an air of self-imposed authority, Athos responded coolly, "I don't know who are my friend," he paused to take a quick glance at the name that was engraved on Tommy's invitation before continuing, " but I'm absolutely certain that you are not Prince Charles Rothschild. Even if you are, no one gets past us without being searched, is that clear 'your highness'?"

"These ladies are under my sovereign protection, I have sworn to their families to keep them safe, especially from scum like you. If you and that abortion you call a brother dare to lay one finger on either of my companions, you will live to regret it!" Tommy retorted.

Teresa had become very agitated, sensing that a battle was about to ensue between Tommy and the twins. They could not afford an altercation right now. It would draw unwelcome attention, and their mission would be jeopardized. A diversion was in order and she knew just the thing.

She quickly turned to her mother and said, "Unzip me."

Appalled, Marie could hardly believe what her daughter had asked of her. Her response came in the form of a judgmental whisper, "Have you lost your mind? There are hundreds of people here!"

Teresa replied, "Are you going to stand there and run the risk of endangering the mission, or are you going to help me get us past these bastards?"

Marie knew the importance of getting inside to locate the weapons, and at the rate that things were going the chances of that happening were quickly being diminished. Putting her sense of morality and decency aside, with a shaky hand, Marie reached behind her daughter and slowly unzipped her gown. The garment then fell down to her ankles leaving Teresa exposed save her expensive black lacey lingerie. The strapless bra supported and pushed up her bosom, making her chest appear more ample that it truly was. The lacy French cut panties matched her brassiere perfectly. Her long well muscled legs were encased in black thigh high stockings, held up garters. As Teresa stood with her hands on her hips, she suddenly placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly to get the men's attention.

"Oh boys," she said seductively, relying on her dormant talents, "As you can see I carry nothing that would be deemed a weapon of any kind. Now won't you please let us inside?"

Christian and Athos couldn't help but gawk at Teresa's beautiful scantily clad body. The contrast of her creamy white skin and the ebony color of her unmentionables made her appear to be very alluring. The fact that she was still wearing her masquerade mask gave her an air of irresistible mystery. Tommy was absolutely speechless as he fought the overwhelming urge to take off his jacket and throw it over Teresa. As for Marie, she was completely mortified and wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

Finally it was Christian that broke the unbearable silence, "Brother, I think that everything's in order here."

Athos gulped and then replied as his eyes raked over the half naked Teresa, "Yes, quite in order. I don't see the need for any further inspections, do you?"

"No," Christian responded in turn then addressed Tommy, "I apologize for any delays, your highness. By all means, please allow me to get the door for you and your lovely companions." He then moved to the immense door, opened it and allowed Tommy to cross the threshold.

By this time Marie had helped her daughter back into her dress as she whispered viciously, "You are so lucky that your little carnal display had the desired affect. Things could have gone horribly wrong!"

Rolling her eyes at her mother's chastising words Teresa whispered back, "Luck had nothing to do with it. They're men. When they see a naked girl all of the oxygen giving blood leaves their brains and go to other places on their anatomy. Men think with their heads, all right, just not necessarily the one that rests above their shoulders."

Teresa then straightened up her back and started to follow to Tommy inside the chateau, leaving her mother to stand alone with her mouth agape.

* * *

"Commandant, I had no idea you were such a lovely dancer, you are quite graceful," Penelope told Leopold Braun admiringly. 

The mistress of the manor and the guest of honor had just finished a series of dances that dazzled crowd that had gathered around them to cheer them on. They had done a fabulous flamenco, followed by a sultry samba. Then came the grand finale, a magnificent mambo that had garnered thundering applause from the admiring mob. Even Commandant Schmidt and his fiancé had nodded their heads in approval. Lydia couldn't help but feel a bit envious at the way that Braun seemed genuinely enamored of Penelope. He had gazed lovingly at his dance partner as he expertly twirled her around then caught her gently in his arms.

Now the rhythmically talented duo found themselves catching a bit of fresh air on the immense concrete balcony that over looked the massive rose garden and beyond that the tall hedges that comprised a maze. Penelope had placed her delicate hands on the rail of the balcony, allowing the cool breeze to hit her face as she stood with her back to Braun.

"Thank you Madame Mero, but I am only as good as my partner. When I danced with you, I felt like I was with Ginger Rogers." Braun responded flattering the woman that stood before him.

"Well, my dear Commandant Braun that would make you Fred Astaire." Penelope said as she turned around to face the handsome officer. She was startled when she suddenly discovered that Braun had been standing in very close proximity to her.

Boldly he reached down and took one of her hands in his. Looking deeply into her the dark deep pools of her eyes he said, "Please, let us dispense with all of this formality. You may call me Leopold if you wish, if you would allow me to call you Penelope."

Feeling as shy as a school girl at her first cotillion, she suddenly turned her eyes away from the young commandant's penetrating stare. In all of her years of existence and through three incarnations in the Matrix, she had never felt so vulnerable yet so vibrant and alive, if such a thing were possible for a program such as she.

Slowly, Penelope turned her eyes back to gaze upon the hopeful face of her young suitor. Her jaded heart was now palpitating with newfound vigor. Giving Braun an encouraging smile she said, "Leopold, I like the sound of that. Well, Leopold, not only will I allow to call me 'Penelope', I insist on it."

Commandant Braun returned her smile with one of his own then asked, "Penelope, may I kiss you?"

"My dear Leopold, I thought you'd never ask." Penelope Mero threw her arms around the tall officer's neck and kissed him fully on the lips. Braun quickly placed his warm hands on her bare back, softly caressing her skin with his fingertips. Their kiss increased in intensity as Penelope pushed her tongue into Braun's mouth. Since he had never been kissed in this fashion, Leopold was slightly taken aback by the sensation of another person's tongue invading his mouth.

Sensing his apprehension, Penelope pulled away from his eager but inexperience lips and asked, "Have you never kissed anyone in the French fashion before?"

Leopold blushed as he admitted that not only had he never experienced a French kiss, he had actually never kissed anyone, ever. Penelope had been his first. Madame Mero felt honored, but she had to ask the next question before taking their budding romance to the next level.

"Leopold, does that also mean that you have never been with anyone before, you know, are you a -?"

" –Virgin? Yes, I'm afraid that it's true," embarrassed, he turned away from her, then continued to day, "I guess you don't want some young pup as a lover. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

He started to walk away from Penelope, His retreat was suddenly halted as he heard her call out to him, "Leopold, wait! Please wait! Don't walk away from me. I don't want to be alone, not tonight, not ever again!"

The desperate pleading in her voice tugged at his heart, causing him to whirl around and take Penelope into his arms. He held her tight against him, in an attempt to console and alleviate the loneliness that had reigned in her life for so long. All of the broken promises, the humiliation she endured because of Marcus' affairs seemed to vanish as she was being cradled in the arms of a man that she sensed truly cared for her.

Lifting her head from his broad chest, she looked up at his handsome face and whispered, "Leopold, I want to be with you. I want to make love to you."

Braun felt as if he could not contain his growing affection for this beautiful, desirable woman. He did not care if she was another man's wife. Mero obviously had neglected Penelope for too long, starving her of love and attention. Hitler had also mistreated her by using her body, then casting her aside when he got tired of her. Both men were fools if they could not see the wonderful person that Penelope was. He would do everything in his power to make her happy and love her as she deserves to be loved.

He then brought his mouth down on hers, kissing her softly on her full lips. Penelope groaned as she felt that a more confident Braun slipped his tongue into her waiting moist mouth. Her tongue glided against his, slowly and precisely, teaching him how she wanted to be kissed. Luckily for her, Leopold was a quick study. His ardent kisses were becoming more intense as his hands had begun to caress and knead her back once more.

Penelope surrendered herself to his kisses, allowing her arms to rest comfortably around his neck.

Commandant Braun had kissed his way to her soft throat, bestowing the exposed flesh with feathery touch of his lips. Penelope sighed passionately as she reached down and took Braun's right hand then placed it firmly on her left breast. Laying her hand directly above his, she applied the right amount of pressure, showing him the correct way to touch her. Braun couldn't help but groan when he felt that Penelope had placed her other hand on the crotch of his pants. She stroked his erect member softly through the garment as Braun continued to touch her breast. Because her nipples were now two sensitive peaks aching to be suckled, Penelope knew that it was time to take this exchange of passion into the privacy of her luxurious bedchamber.

Pulling away from him, she said, "Leopold, let's go to my room. We can have all the privacy we need there."

Braun had suddenly become concerned that someone might see them ascend the stairs to her bedroom. He didn't want to cause trouble for her.

Penelope let out a little laugh as she said, "Don't worry, no one will see us. This house is full of secret passageways and chambers. I know the right one that will lead us straight to my room unseen by anyone."

Relieved, Braun smiled as he said gingerly, "All right, lead the way."

* * *

Once they had found themselves inside the private bedroom of Madame Mero, their desire for each other exploded with a force of a megaton bomb. Penelope and Braun couldn't get out of each other's clothes fast enough, as they fumbled with buttons, zippers and clasps. At last they stood facing each other naked and vulnerable. Penelope marveled at perfection of Braun's taut physique. He wasn't too overly muscular, but he did possess the body of a well-trained athlete. Leopold, in turn, looked upon the woman that had captured his heart. She was indeed beautiful, with curves in all the right places. Her long, black hair was now down, giving her the appearance of a wanton nymph. 

Braun did not want to seem overly eager, but it was painfully obvious to the both of them just how aroused he was. Penelope knew that if she let this boy have his way, his gratification would be swift and disappointing. No, she told herself, his first time needs to be memorable and most importantly, lasting.

"Come here, my love," she cooed.

Braun immediately obeyed and moved quickly to the bewitching woman to do her bidding. Gathering him into her arms she gave him a hungry kiss. Instinctively, Leopold began to thrust his pelvis forward in an attempt to enter her. She pulled away, wagged a finger in his face and said, "Not so fast. Now I want you to lie on your back on the bed. I want to teach you something."

Braun growled as he complied with her request, "You can teach me anything you want."

Penelope smiled then walked over to a large steamer chest at the foot of her bed. Lifting the heavy lid, she reached inside to retrieve a white silk scarf and a long wispy feather. She then closed the lid and slowly made her approach towards the waiting and anxious man lying on her bed. She placed the feather on the nightstand but still held on to the scarf.

Standing above the young commandant, Penelope whispered, "Do you trust me?"

"Yes! Oh God, yes," was his fevered reply.

Without another word spoken, Penelope began to tie the ends of the scarf around each of Leopold's wrists, then tying the remaining length of the silky cloth to the wrought iron bars of the headboard. When she was completely satisfied that she had restrained him properly, Penelope then took the feather from the nightstand it had been resting on.

Again she asked, "Do you trust me?"

"Yes my darling angel. Do what you will with me."

Accepting his last words as his consent, Penelope stood by the bed as she began to run the feather down one side of his defined body, then the other. She then ran the feather across his chest, his abdomen, his thighs and calves. She had purposefully not run the feather in or around his genital area. Penelope had something special planned for that.

Braun had closed his eyes, surrendering his to the light, sensuous tickling from the feather. His every nerve ending was tingling; his entire being was quivering with desire. He was now lifting his pelvis in the air, straining to get Penelope to notice it and caresses it with her feather. He was mad with rampant passion, amazed at the fact that he had been greatly aroused with nothing more that the touch of a feather. He sighed her name as she continued to tickle him. Penelope's own passion had increased with each stroke she gave Braun. She had not been immune to the sight of Braun's rock hard erection. Her loins had become moist and warm, her nipples were painfully sensitive as she fought back the urge to jump on top of him and ride him with all of her might.

She then put away the feather and for the first time Penelope touched Braun's body with her own hands. She started at his face, massaging his temples, and then caressing his cheeks. Then she ran her hands down to his hairless chest, taking the time to put a nipple between her thumb and forefinger to give it a gentle twist. Braun moaned loudly as he felt that same nipple now being gently suckled by Penelope's soft moist mouth. Kissing her way down the rippling muscles of his abdomen, she now found herself eye level with Leopold's penis. He held his breath in anticipation of what she might do to him.

Oh my sweet God, he thought, she isn't go to do what I think, what I hope she's going to do? Before he could formulate another coherent thought, Penelope opened her mouth and slid it down the entire the length of his shaft, causing him to cry out. He had never dreamed that sensations like this were even possible. No wonder humans enjoyed copulating so much. He sighed and grunted as Penelope slowly rode his penis with her mouth. He wanted to touch her so badly and fought against his restraints, but his efforts were fruitless. Penelope had tied one hell of a knot. She knew that she would have to relinquish her hold on him soon or it would all be over before she could teach him to please her.

Reluctantly, she removed her mouth away from his male organ. She smiled at her lover's disappointed grunt and tried to console him, "Don't be sad, my little German commandant. You just have to learn to pleasure your partner, and you do want to please me, don't you?"

"Yes, very much, Penelope."

"Well then, now it's my turn. She finally got on the bed and straddled her body on top of his. She then lowered her upper torso towards his mouth and commanded, "I want you to suckle me. Now!"

Taking the nipple that was being offered to him in his mouth, Braun began to lick and suck the sensitive nub in the same fashion that she had suckled his. Penelope threw her head back as Braun continued to suck one breast and then the other one. She was now very wet between her legs and her womanhood ached for release. Penelope gently pulled her breasts away from Braun's hungry mouth. Looking deeply in his eyes she said, "Now I am going to place myself on your face. When I do, I want you to lick and suck me in the same way I did to you. You are not to stop until I tell you to. Is that understood?"

Braun nodded dumbly as he waited for Penelope to lower her hot dripping vagina on his face as she gripped the iron headboard for balance. His tongue immediately began to lick and savor the core of Penelope's femininity. He needed very little coaching from her, since he seemed to know exactly how to perform cunnilingus. She attributed his knowledge to his vast files on human behavior. For once, she thanked the Architect for his thoroughness when it came to training and programming the sentient beings he had created.

Penelope was quickly brought to the brink of ecstasy by the delicious ministrations of Braun's flicking tongue. She gripped the headboard tighter as she began to shout, "Don't stop, Leopold! I'm almost there, for God's sake, don't stop!"

Braun licked at her faster, as Penelope cried out, "Oh my God! Leopold!"

Her orgasm whipped through her body like a bolt of lightening. She whimpered and moaned until her ecstasy subsided. Moving herself away from Leopold's face, she rested her face on his chest, "That was the best ever! Thank you my love. Now, I will take care of you. I've kept you waiting long enough."

Lifting her head away from his torso, she smiled down at him then lowered her head to kiss him. She was still straddling Braun, with her legs on either side of his body. Penelope teasingly hovered her womanhood above his penis, then swiftly and decisively impaled herself onto his rock hard member. She then began to move up and down, riding him like one of the Arabian stallions in her husband's stables. Leopold grunted and growled as he lifted his pelvis off the mattress to meet Penelope's thrusts. He was still struggling to get out of the restraints of the silk scarf as the woman on top of him began to ride him more vigorously.

The pressure in his loins was unbearable and just when he thought that he could not take anymore of the sweet torment Penelope was giving him, he suddenly cried out as his climax began to overtake him. It was so powerful and wonderful that it had caused Braun to bend the iron bars of the headboard he was tied to. Penelope had also reached a second orgasm, which was just as intense as the first. She had collapsed onto his chest, exhausted, but happy. When she had had a bit of rest, Penelope quickly untied her lover. He in turn, could not wrap his arms around her fast enough, holding her close to him. He kissed the top of her head and said, "I love you Penelope."

Penelope sighed happily as she replied, "I love you too, Leopold."

As the content couple drifted off to sleep, they were totally oblivious to the fact that their recent joining had been witnessed a pair of very jealous twins. They had concealed their presence behind the two-way mirror that had recently been installed in their mistress' bedroom unbeknownst to her. Christine and Athos had been quite upset with Penelope ever since she stopped seeking them out for her comfort. They had been the ones that had dried her tears, held her in the night and pleasured her when it was needed. She was theirs and no one, not even some German commandant was going to stand between them and their mistress. It was bad enough that they had to endure her affair with Hitler, but they had known better than to cross the leader of the Third Reich. Commandant Braun was another matter entirely.

It was decided between the ghostly pair that there was only one solution to their problem, Braun needed to be done away with. The sooner, the better.

End Chapter Sixteen


	17. The Problem is Choice

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix, the dastardly Agent Smith or that goody- two- shoes, Neo. I do however own their predecessors, Commandant Schmidt and Tommy Ackerman and the possibility that the third Matrix actually took place during the terrible reign of the Third Reich.

A/N: The party rages on! Well, my dear readers the previous chapter was just an appetizer; this one is the main course. I hope you all have brought your appetites because this chapter is chock full of delicious surprises! _Bon appetite_!

Chapter Seventeen

The Problem is Choice

The soirée at the Chateau Merovingian appeared by all accounts, to be a big success. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the revelry as the guests partook of every decadent pleasure that this palace of sin had to offer. Some people were pairing off and vanishing into one of the many rooms located off of the seemingly endless corridors of the mansion.

Others could be found roaming the gardens, soon finding themselves lost in the maze of towering hedges. Mirth and amusement however, would quickly be replaced by panic as the search for an exit became next to impossible. The tall green fichus bushes that made up maze appeared to shift and move of their own accord, blocking once open passageways, frightening and frustrating all that had the misfortune to enter the labyrinth in the first place. Finally as if by some sort of magic, the maze would release its hapless victims by creating gateway that lead directly back to the main house.

Visibly shaken guests that had experienced the twists and turns of the maze, stumbled their way back into the solarium just in time to see Marcus Mero unveil his "gift" for his Nazi friends and their allies in the form of the evening's entertainment. Ranging from the sublime to the downright bizarre, Marcus unleashed his legions of professional can -can girls, animal trainers, fire-breathers and exotic contortionists from the Far East.

The performers managed to tantalize and delight the guests with their outrageous and colorful antics. Marcus, who was presiding over the unfolding events with the brashness of a ringmaster, couldn't help but smile devilishly when he snuck a peek in the Fuehrer's direction. Adolph Hitler was mesmerized as he watched the dancing girls kick up their legs in time with the lively music being played by the orchestra. His consort, Eva Braun, appeared to have a sour look etched permanently on her face. Perhaps she does not care for the can-can girls shaking their delightfully plump behinds in the Feurher's face, Mero surmised. Oh well, this is France after all where men have to be allowed some reprieve from the stranglehold of monogamy.

Mero was partially right about the reason for Eva's discontent. She had been sorely disappointed that the elegant gathering that she had planned for her brother had turned out to be a three-ring circus. She had pictured an evening of proper etiquette, with fine dining and the melodic tones of Mozart and Bach being played softly in the background.

But this has turned out to be a disaster, Eva lamented, look at all this! Those dancers are nothing more than painted up Jezebels and those contortionists. My God, how they bend their bodies like that, I'll never know, but I do know that it's downright indecent! The worst part is that is that dinner will be served soon and Leopold is nowhere to be found! I've looked for him everywhere! We need to put our little plan into action. He better not have changed his mind about all this, I've already have the sedative ready to go!

Eva Braun's shoulders slumped forward as she glumly watched the dancers continue to excite and entice the ogling crowd. Then suddenly, the bear and lion tamers cracked their whips as they let their charges out of the confines of their cages. A collective gasp emanated from the terror-stricken audience when they heard the roars and growls from the ferocious beasts, as Marcus, their gracious host, tried to put them at ease.

"Ladies and gentleman, please relax. I assure that these animals are highly trained and completely tame. Please remain where you are; the show is almost over! Then we can go into the dinning hall for the most sumptuous meal that your palates have ever tasted. My personal chef, Antoine, has even created a very special dessert for tonight that will be sinfully extravagant!" Mero's velvety words rolled off his tongue in an almost hypnotic fashion as he lulled his guests into a false sense of security.

The only ones that were not convinced of Mero's generous hospitality were the officers assigned to protect the German dictator. Commandant's Schmidt's piercing eyes scanned the perimeter around him then he locked his gaze on Captain Johansen who was standing stoically on the opposite side of the solarium. The captain nodded his head slightly, acknowledging his superior's presence. The officers needed to speak with one another without having the humans overhear the classified nature of their communiqué.

Schmidt quickly glanced over at his fiancé, Lydia and when he was assured that she was totally enthralled by the spectacle being displayed before her, he then turned his head to face Captain Johansen once again. Quickly, Schmidt rolled his eyes into the back of his head as his subordinate did the same from across the room. The officers had placed themselves into trance-like state as the whites of their eyes were eerily exposed from the sockets in their skulls. Commandant Schmidt then began his transmission to Johansen via the remote modem in his CPU.

_TRANSMISSION 01-00025:_

_Johansen, we must be on high alert, my sensors are picking up some unusual readings._

_TRANSMISSION 01-00026:_

_Understood, sir. I too have detected similar readings. How would you like me to proceed?_

_TRANSMISSION 01-00027:_

_Intensify and broaden your search. I suspect that there might be rebels among us. Find the insurgents and contain them!_

_TRANSMISSION 01-00028:_

_Yes, sir. May I inquire about one thing, Commandant?_

_TRANSMISSION 01-00029:_

_Don't bother; I already know your question. I've asked myself the same thing: where is Braun? When the time comes, I will deal with Commandant Braun myself. You just need to make sure that our Fuehrer remain unharmed at all costs. Is that understood, captain?_

_TRANSMISSION 01-00030_

_Understood, Commandant. Over and out._

_END TRANSMISSION_

As soon as the connection between the sentient beings was severed, Johansen wasted no time as he quickly left the solarium to carry Schmidt's orders.

* * *

Mero's cavalcade of lascivious performers provided the perfect distraction, as Teresa, Marie and Tommy seized the opportunity to break away from the crowd to locate the trophy room. According to the Sandman's coordinates, it was adjacent to the library in the eastern wing of the chateau. That section of the manor had been closed off from the rest house due to an extensive renovation, thus giving the away team an appropriate venue to go about his or her subversive activities without the risk of running into anyone. They all knew too well that the longer they remained in the Matrix, the danger of one or more of the human guests transforming into an officer of the SS was increasing by the minute. If such as thing were to occur, their plans to assassinate Hitler would go terribly awry. Silently, they started to walk in an eastwardly direction, trying their best to be as discrete as possible. However, there was one pair of steel blue eyes that observed the trio's retreat with more than mild curiosity.

As Commandant Schmidt watched the suspicious threesome walk away from the festivities, one of the women had captured his interest. True she was beautiful, but it was the way she carried herself that caught his attention. Despite her elegant attire for the evening, she did not walk with the casual grace of most of the women in attendance. No, the woman in the black dress moved with precision and purpose. Each step she took was cautiously measured, calculated and deliberate. Her companions seemed to move in a similar fashion, but it was she that demonstrated the most discipline. Commandant Schmidt almost chuckled to himself as he continued his observations. If I didn't know any better, I could almost swear that she was one of us, a fellow sentient. Fascinating.

Schmidt was so transfixed by the subject of his surveillance, that at first he did not feel his fiancé tug at the sleeve of his dinner jacket. When he could no longer ignore her insistent attempts to get his attention, he sighed, regarded her with cold eyes then asked with an annoyed tone, "Yes, Lydia, what do you want now?"

Fraulein Rhinehart pouted her pretty mouth as she replied, "I'm just frightened, love. Those animals are horrid. Thank God I have my big strong commandant here to protect me." Then she encircled both of arms around his waist and snuggled up close, too close, to Schmidt's hard body. Damn, he cursed when he felt himself starting to get aroused again. Having Lydia in such close proximity to him was dangerous. He could not afford to engage in another heated tryst with her right now. Stay focused, Schmidt, he told himself. There is obviously something about that darkly clad woman that merits further investigation. I must find out who she is.

Schmidt tried to break free from Lydia's tight embrace to begin his pursuit of the dubious threesome, but she refused to relinquish her hold on him. Exasperated, Schmidt thought of an efficient solution to his pressing problem. He could easily reach down to take one of her slender wrists in his hand and without too much effort; fracture every bone in her forearm. Then he thought better of it as no doubt the excruciating pain from such an act would cause her to cry out and attract unwanted attention. With an evil gleam in the icy depths of his eyes, he dreamt up another scenario. Schmidt could simply place her empty head in between the palms of his elegant yet powerful hands and crush her skull like a walnut. The image of sending bone fragments, blood and brain matter to spray everywhere caused Schmidt to feel perverse pleasure.

A disturbing smile, akin to that of a criminally insane mental patient, was being displayed on the commandant's full lips as he reveled in the endless possibilities of how to cause Lydia's untimely demise.

As he continued his murderous contemplation, Schmidt was suddenly yanked out his deadly reverie when he heard an all too familiar voice greet him and Lydia.

"Good evening, Herr Commandant. I'm so glad see you and your lovely fiancée, Fraulein Rhinehart."

Schmidt was caught off guard a bit by the slight interruption of his current thought pattern, but his veneer remained impassive and stoic as he responded to the man that had offered his salutations, "Good evening to you too, Herr Doctor."

Doctor Josef Mengele, by all outward appearances, seemed gracious and warm as he addressed the handsome commandant and his future bride, but the program known simply as Commandant Schmidt knew better. Mengele's presence only served the SS officer as a reminder that he was still under the watchful eye of the Source. All it would take was one negative report to get back to his "father", the Architect, and Schmidt's codes would be eviscerated from the Matrix's mainframe. His programming would be irretrievable, unable to be restored, ever. It would be as if he had never existed.

The intimidated officer tried to assuage the doctor's doubts by suddenly showing his affection for Lydia quite openly, taking the very hand he had wanted to pulverize just a few short moments ago and placing a tender kiss upon it. Then Schmidt's lips grazed Lydia's left check ever so lovingly. As Mengele looked on unconvinced, his cold black beady eyes dissected every nuance, every subtle gesture between the couple. By reading Lydia's vital signs, the slight increase in her pulse rate, the dilation of her pupils and the changes in her breathing pattern, it was made clear that they were all telltale indications that her affection for Schmidt was genuine. However, when it came to gauging the commandant's "feelings", for lack of a better word, Mengele was not impressed with Schmidt's ability to mimic human emotions, since he could not keep them in check.

The fact that artificial intelligent beings could often suppress and even control their emotional programming module was inherent in every being designed and activated by the Source. The ability to make concise and logical decisions without letting rage, love or hate become a part of the equation is what makes an AI superior to Homo sapiens.

Humans had caused their own near extinction when they allowed prejudice and abhorrence affects the future of the planet. It was the Machines, under the guidance of the analytical and superior mind of the Architect that devised, and executed a plan for a mutually beneficial co-habitation between man and AI. Men owe their continued existence to machines whether they liked it or not. Perhaps that fact is what makes the rebels fight so hard, the Resistance is humanity's last feeble attempt to hold to some semblance of identity, and individuality when in truth, they had lost right to manage their own lives because their self-destructive nature.

No matter, thought the doctor, as soon as all of the undesirables are eliminated in the power plants and Zion is nothing but ashes, the Matrix will be reloaded and order will be restored. The genetically superior Aryans will power the next incarnation of the Matrix. Maybe then the system will not need to be rebooted.

The doctor then turned his hard gaze towards Lydia. His face softened a bit as he looked upon her perfect features, swelling with pride at the fact the he had had a hand in enhancing this beautiful girl. His feelings for her had become fatherly in nature, and he was very protective of her. As soon as he had seen her and Schmidt, he had been compelled to greet them and make sure that his "nephew" was behaving himself.

When the doctor had treated her extensive injuries, he had endowed Lydia with the abilities to defend herself and heal almost instantaneously from any superficial bruises, fractures and lacerations. However he could not grant her immortality, she is human after all and not matter how genetically advanced her DNA was, it would not keep her from expiring from a mortal wound. His concern for her was genuine since he knew that the longer she stayed with Schmidt, the chances of her dying by his hand were greatly increasing. Doctor Mengele also knew that the only thing keeping Lydia alive were his threats of going to the Source and divulging all that he knew about Schmidt's monstrous abuse against one of the Architect's chosen, an Aryan.

Lydia, oblivious to the dark thoughts that surrounded her fate, was beaming as soon as she had seen the physician that had restored her back to health. Offering him a warm welcoming smile she said, "It's so good to see you too, Herr Doctor. Did your lovely wife Anna come with you?"

"No," he replied rather curtly, then the doctor added, "I am afraid that she's has come down with a terrible case of influenza and was too weak to make the trip from Munich."

"Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. Please send her my love and get well wishes." Lydia said with heartfelt sincerity.

Mengele, touched by the young Fraulein's concern for his spouse, gently took her right hand in his. Raising it to his thin lips he planted a soft kiss then released it slowly.

"Thank you, my dear. I will be sure to tell her just that," he said appreciatively.

Schmidt observed Doctor's Mengele's display of fatherly affection towards his so-called fiancé with total disgust. He couldn't understand why the doctor had taken such tremendous interest in her.

She nothing more than a dirty little Jew whore and if the older program knew the truth about Lydia's origins, Doctor Joseph Mengle would be the first to condemn her to die. Schmidt wanted nothing more than to unmask Lydia and reveal her to the world for the fraud she was and let the Gestapo send her to her death, but he knew that his fate was undeniably tied to hers. Until he could tie up all of his loose ends, Schmidt would have to continue to play his part, bide his time, and be patient. Vengeance is inevitable. Braun, Lydia and yes, even Doctor Josef Mengele will soon find out what the Blue Demon has in store for each and every one of them.

* * *

"Hurry, you two. We're almost there. The trophy room is just a few more feet away," Teresa hissed at her mother and Tommy. They had successfully made it to the east wing of the enormous mansion seemingly undetected by the SS guard. However, Teresa knew that she would feel much better with a weapon or two. The desire to arm herself was strong and urgent as she increased the pace of her steps.

"Jesus, Nova, slow down! You don't know what or who could be waiting for us just around the corner! Remember what Marcel warned us about, the chateau is heavily guarded by both the Nazi's and Mero's own ruthless henchmen!" Tommy reminded her anxiously.

Sensing another battle of words was about to ensure, Marie calmly intervened by saying to both her daughter and the young man believed to be the One, "Look, you're both right. We do need to hurry, but let's not loose sight of the real danger that we're all in right now! Now, Teresa lead on, hurry!"

Teresa gave her mother a slight nod, and then swiftly turned around to resume her search for the much-needed armaments. Marie's lips were upturned in a slight smile, happy in the fact that her daughter had actually acknowledged what she had just said without an argument or protest. A little flame of hope was starting to flicker inside her. Perhaps it was a sign that they might be able to put their past behind them and begin to interact as mother and daughter again.

The away team had continued to walk along the corridor in silence, until at long last they found themselves in front of the arched doorway of Marcus Mero's precious trophy room. Teresa quickly placed her hand on the smooth cold brass handle, gave it a twist then let herself and her companions inside.

* * *

At the chateau's service entrance, Captain Marcel and the Facilitator were standing in wait just behind the some tall bushes for their chance to gain entry into the kitchen. They had avoided capture by the Nazi's and local law enforcement, by driving on the back roads where there was less of a chance of a roadblock. Now here they were on the cusp of fulfilling the prophecy and bringing an end to the war once and for all. Marcel was grateful to have his old ally at his side.

Although he was fully aware that the Facilitator was a program, he was a friend of the Resistance nonetheless. Many years ago, he and other rouge programs had built up a small coalition of AI that dared to oppose the Source's callous plans for mass genocide. They strongly believed that humans and machines could co-exist peacefully as each race benefited from the other. However, the Architect, when presented with their peace plan, scoffed at the idea and ordered the deletion of every member of the AI peace delegation. Word soon spread throughout the AI community and those programs found helping the undesirable humans or deemed to be sympathizers of the Jewish plight, were hunted down and exterminated by the SS.

The Facilitator had seen many of his AI brethren murdered at the hands of the Architect's most lethal assassins. When he could no longer allow the bloodshed to continue while he stood idly by, he devised a solution of his own design. Being the brilliant programmer that he was, the Facilitator had built an escape route for the exiles, an underground railroad of sorts that would allow any program seeking asylum, safe passage to the Machine City known as 01. He had fashioned it to look like a subterranean train station complete with pristinely white tiled walls, and shiny metal tracks that would carry a large and powerful locomotive away from the Matrix. The train station was well protected and undetectable by the Source due to a virtually impenetrable firewall.

The Facilitator appointed himself as the conductor, a trainman, so that he could ensure his passengers would arrive at their destination safely. It was around this time that he had been summoned by the Seer. It was at her behest that the Facilitator seek out the human Resistance and offer his assistance. His help proved to be invaluable and soon he earned the trust and loyalty of the leader of the rebellion, Marcel Dubois. Side by side, the human and the program fought valiantly, drawn together by a noble cause, to topple the machines' corrupt regime.

However, their struggle had not been a bloodless one as both races suffered casualties, terrible was the loss of their brothers in arms. It did not matter to Captain Marcel if they were man or machine, for their deaths had caused great sorrow and pain felt deep in the heart of Zion and 01. Yet he held on firmly to his belief that from terrible tragedy heroes were born, brave men and women drawing their strength from the spirit of the fallen to live and fight another day. Now that Tommy had been found, the prophecy that had been foretold long before he was even born was close to fruition, and the dead would be avenged and more importantly, humanity would be free from the shackles of fear and oppression. Marcel felt it to be true, balls to bone.

The captain's face was serene, as he continued to wait for his window of opportunity and then it came to him in the form of Antoine, the pastry chef. The culinary artiste wearing his chef's uniform and hat had stepped outside of the unbearably warm kitchen to catch a breath of fresh air. Antoine had been slaving away all day, perfecting the desserts that Monsieur Mero had instructed him to make. The mocha soufflé and sinfully chocolate mousse looked almost too good to eat. Both sweet concoctions were delicately prepared and only the finest ingredients were used. Dark and rich Bavarian chocolate, fresh cream, butter and eggs. Great care was taken to follow the recipes Marcus had given him, for they were an old family secret of the Chateau Merovingian.

What had been strange about the whole affair was that Mero had insisted in adding one more ingredient into the dessert mixture, a green, thick viscous elixir that had been extracted from his jacket pocket. It had been contained in a simple clear glass vial and as Mero had poured the emerald colored substance into the soufflé batter, Antoine could have sworn that it glowed.

Curious, he remembered asking his employer what the green liquid was, only to be told to mind his own business and to keep stirring the contents of the bowl he had been holding.

Now, as he deeply breathed in the night air, his thoughts drifted back to the present and the task that still was before him, to serve all four hundred guests. Letting out a loud sigh he started to turn to walk back into the blazing hearth, when suddenly he heard the sound of dry leaves being crushed underfoot.

The unexpected noise had caused Antoine to spin around.

"Hello? Is anybody there?" he called out nervously.

Nothing, no response except the sound of wind rustling through the trees. Then there it was again, that dry crackling sound.

Again he called out, this time a bit more forcefully, "Is anyone there? Athos, Christian it had better not be either one of you pulling your sick pranks on me. I'm not in the mood". The latter was meant for those dreadful albino twins. They were incessant pranksters, and Antoine had been the hapless victim of many cruel tricks.

When he did not receive a reply, the chef turned around again when suddenly he heard the sound of running feet rushing toward him. Before Antoine had a chance to see who was approaching him so quickly, he was tackled to the ground by a great force. He wanted to cry out for help but was immediately silenced by the sensation of a cold hard steel blade being held against his throat.

"You scream or move and I will kill you, do we understand each other _mon ami_?" a man's thunderous voice had told him.

Terrified, all Antoine could do was dumbly nod at the powerful looking man that was straddling his chest. Just behind him, the chef could make out the figure a tall gaunt man with stringy long hair aiming a handgun right at him.

"W-what do you want?" Antoine dared to ask.

The man on his chest replied brusquely, "Your clothes. Now!"

"What the hell?"

"You heard him, your clothes," said the gaunt man. Then he took two steps forward, cocked his firearm and added, "We're not going to ask you again."

Antoine immediately started to comply with the demands of the two strange assailants by quickly unbuttoning the jacket of his white chef's uniform. He almost had the garment unfastened when suddenly his already trembling fingers started to twitch and contort uncontrollably. Then the rest of Antoine's body began to seizure frantically as the features on his face started to shift and change.

When the Facilitator realized what was happening, his eyes opened up wide with the terror. "Marcel, kill him! He's changing into one of those bloody Nazi's!" he yelled desperately at his comrade in arms.

Marcel Dubois watched in horror as the chef was metamorphosing, he had to end his life quickly or it would mean the end of theirs. Without hesitating, Marcel ran the sharpened blade of his knife across Antoine's throat, slicing it from ear to ear. The chef's body, which had almost been completely transformed, started to shudder in its death throes as a gurgling sound emanated from his now severed trachea and larynx. He felt his life ebb away from him as he quickly bled to the death. The spasms were dissipating and with one last gasp, Antoine was no more.

When the rebels were satisfied that the chef was dead, the ship's captain finished removing the dead man's clothes, being careful not to soil them with the blood that was now trickling from the cadaver. Then the Facilitator grabbed Antoine's legs and dragged the body to the very same bushes that he and Marcel had been hiding behind earlier. They further tired to conceal the body with dry leaves and soil.

Marcel then started to remove his signature trench coat and suit so that he could put on the chef's attire. Having done so, he turned to his friend and asked, "Well, how do I look?"

The Facilitator grimaced as he looked at his ally critically then answered, "Like fuckin' jag-off."

Smiling, Marcel responded, "That's just what I thought you'd say, now get me that hat. I have to look the part when I serve the Fuehrer his just desserts."

The Facilitator returned the smile and said sarcastically, "Yeah, and we ain't talkin' fuckin' Crème Brule!"

* * *

At last, the away team had reached their goal. They now found themselves in the trophy room of the chateau, and it was just as the Sandman had described, it was magnificent. It was a treasure-trove of ancient weapons and implements of torture and death. The walls were lined with axes, swords and crossbows. There was even a guillotine that no doubt was probably still in good working order. Tommy unconsciously put his hand to his throat when he had caught sight of it. In the center of the room there were six tall clear glass display cases lined up in two rows of threes that housed life sized white marble statues, each wearing a different form of battle-garb ranging from the Samurai of feudal Japan, to the full set of heavy metal armor worn by the knights of the Crusades.

Teresa couldn't help but notice that upon closer inspection, all six of the statues resembled Marcus Mero. Jesus Christ, she thought with contempt; does the man's conceit know no bounds? Then as she peered at the oil paintings on the walls, she noticed that the central figure in all of them had been a different version of Marcus. No matter what the time period, be it ancient Rome, the Renaissance, the Middle Ages, even the Napoleonic era, it was as if he'd been there posing for the artists of the day.

"Unbelievable," Teresa muttered under her breath. As tore her eyes away from Mero's ludicrous display of self-importance she thought to herself, he's even worse than Gaston ever was. At least my former stepfather didn't claim to be a direct descendant of Jesus Christ!

The Merovingian's had proclaimed to be able to trace their bloodlines all the way back to the time when allegedly Mary Magdalene had come to the shores of France with the most revered of religious relics, The Holy Grail. However, that was not the only thing that she had brought with her. According to ancient texts, Mary Magdalene had been with child, a child that she and Jesus had made together before his death on the Cross. From this child sprung a royal, holy and powerful family that ruled much of France for many generations until decadence and corruption took their toll.

I wonder how his bigoted Nazi allies would feel about Mero if they knew that his lineage came from a Jewish carpenter from Nazareth! Most racists that proclaim to hate Jews because they were the alleged murderers of the Messiah forget the Jesus was a Jew Himself.

"Teresa, come here, look what I've found!" Marie excitedly called out to her daughter.

Whipping her head around, Teresa started to move in her mother's direction. She saw Marie standing in front of a wall made of clear glass that contained every modern weapon imaginable behind it. There was everything from sub-machineguns, to hand grenades. The sight of these weapons made Teresa smile as she walked over to Marie.

"Now we're getting somewhere, but how do get to the guns?" Teresa asked her mother as her hands searched for lever or button of some kind. She knew that Mero must have installed a mechanism that would allow the wall to open.

Before Marie could answer, Tommy stepped up and said,"Allow me ladies. Uh, I think you two should take a couple of steps back, I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

The women did as they were told. With skeptical eyes, Teresa watched as Tommy prepared himself to access the wall-length display. Then without warning, Tommy raised his left leg as he balanced the rest of body on his right one. Jumping into the air, he seemed to hover above the ground for a few moments before he delivered a powerful roundhouse kick on the glass partition that separated him from his objective. The force of the impact sent sharp projectiles shooting though the air.

Disgusted with Tommy's crude methods, Teresa said, "I could have done that. You're so lucky that we are not within earshot of anyone, or that ruckus you made would have had every SS officer here rush into this room within seconds!" She then pushed an ornate golden colored knob that what shaped like the letter M located above what was left of the wall. As soon as the button had been pressed, the glassless frame of the wall slid open, giving the away team full access to the cache of armaments.

Smiling sheepishly, Tommy apologized, "Sorry, I guess I should have looked for a switch or something."

"Do you really think so?" Teresa asked with a voice dripping with sarcasm.

Furious with himself for allowing Nova to show him up for the inexperienced warrior that he was, Tommy said nothing. Reaching into the case, he began to load up with small handguns and grenades. The women followed suit as they stuffed their dresses with weapons too. The Sandman had programmed their gowns to be fashioned with secret pockets that were deep enough to conceal just about anything underneath the full skirts

Despite having armed herself to the teeth Nova was still not satisfied. Teresa's cold eyes searched the walls of the room until they spied her weapon of choice, a Japanese katana. Slowly she sauntered over to it, reached out and plucked the sword off the wall. Holding the handle tightly, she practiced by sweeping the blade through the air, spinning and twirling it as if it were a baton.

Ceasing her actions, Teresa carefully brought the katana to her lips and kissed the edge of the cool sharp steel blade. "Ah, yes, you are beautiful, aren't you?" she cooed as she looked at her newly acquired weapon admiringly.

Tommy scoffed at the notion that Teresa would be able to hide a katana underneath the folds of her dress. "Just where do think you are going to put that thing?"

Nova smiled at him and said, "None of your fucking business. Now let's get the hell out of here we have a dictator to assassinate!"

Tommy then suddenly realized that they did not check to see if the guns were loaded. He voiced his concerns to his companions. Teresa walked up to him, reached inside the breast pocket of his tuxedo and removed Tommy's .45-caliber pistol. Holding the powerful gun with just one hand she aimed it at the wall just beyond Tommy's left shoulder. Wrapping her index finger around the trigger, she pulled back on the hammer with her thumb then squeezed off a couple of rounds.

The recoil from firing such a weapon should have sent the slender girl reeling to the opposite side of the room, but Nova didn't even flinch. Tommy's ears were ringing from the loud gunfire as he looked at Teresa with utter dismay.

"It's loaded, now let's go! I'm sure the guests are about to be seated for dinner and we can't miss our chance to get Hitler!"

* * *

Penelope Mero still found herself enveloped in the protective embrace of her newly acquired paramour, Leopold Braun when she started to stir from her deep and restful slumber. She could hardly believe that the harmony she was feeling was real. Was she dreaming or did she actually fall in love with most sensitive and selfless program in the entire Matrix.

Braun was so unlike Marcus, they were like night and day, complete opposites. Marcus was thoughtless and cruel. Self-absorbed and arrogant, he cared for nothing except his own voracious appetite for other women. Leopold on the other hand, demonstrated a tenderness that had been absent in her life for so long.

They had made love five more times that night and each was better than the last. Braun had proven to be a very caring and considerate lover, always eager to please Penelope no matter what her whim. She in turn had shown her appreciation for his attentiveness by taking him to unknown realms of passion. Each coupling would end with gentle kisses and Braun whispering in her ear, "I love you." Hearing those words uttered by her beloved, made her believe that she would die from extreme happiness.

As he felt Penelope move within his arms, Braun's eyes slowly began to open. Groaning deeply, he became acutely aware that the sensation of Penelope's warm body sensuously sliding against his was causing a familiar and welcomed tightening of his loins.

Lying with her back to him, Penelope provocatively rubbed her buttocks against the swelling protrusion from Braun's body. Then with a deep throaty laugh she said teasingly, "Well, I see that the Little Commandant is awake and ready to play." She had been referring to Braun's impressive genitalia, which Penelope had affectionately dubbed the "Little Commandant".

Smiling wolfishly, Braun pulled her closer to him, and then ran his hand down the length of her body until he rested it on her knee. Gently prying her legs open, while still keeping Penelope lying on her side, Braun entered her slowly, completely filling her insides with his rigidity of his manly flesh. Penelope couldn't help but moan with pleasure as Braun began to leisurely but deliberately push his member deeper into her, making her feel every inch of him. His hand had moved to the soft smooth slopes of her breasts and as he began to caress them, he felt Penelope's body quiver with delight. Braun was now manipulating her nipples with his fingers, gently pinching them to full erectness as he continued to thrust his engorged manhood into the tight moist folds of her vagina.

Swooning at the delicious sensation of Braun's gentle albeit intense lovemaking, Penelope felt his hot breath against her ear asking, "Now, tell me, my love, it's not so little after all?"

Then to drive his point home he thrust into her even harder causing her to cry out, "Oh, Leopold, it's not! It's so big and it feels so wonderful!"

Braun couldn't help but smile at his lover's flattering appraisal of his sexual organ, so he decided to show her his gratitude in earnest. Carefully he slipped out of her for just a moment so that he could turn Penelope onto her back. Finally, they were face to face, just as Braun had intended. He wanted to look upon Penelope's beautiful features, as he prepared to take her once more, to lose himself in the darkness of her eyes. It was in that darkness that he had found the light, his true purpose.

What he was feeling defied all logic, and he knew that the Source would not approve, but for the moment he put those thoughts aside as he interlaced his fingers with Penelope's then swiftly penetrated her. Arching her back, she began to whimper and moan as Braun started to grind his hips into her slowly, stimulating her womanhood. Penelope letting go of Braun's grip, slid her soft hands down the sides of his sculpted body until they came upon Braun's taut buttocks. Cupping a cheek in each hand, she squeezed his backside gently at first and then as Braun increased the force of his pelvic thrusts, Penelope grabbed his rock hard ass with all of her might and held on tight.

As began to lose herself in the moment, Penelope's eyes instinctively shut, until she heard the man on top of her plead, "No, my love, don't close your eyes. I want you to look at me while I'm inside you. Please look at me."

Penelope obeyed and her dark eyes flew open to gaze upon the flushed but handsome face of Commandant Braun.

Pleased that his lover complied with his request, he asked one more thing of her, "Tell me you love me."

"I love you," she panted, feeling herself getting closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. Her skin had taken on a rosy pink hue as the tiny capillary veins brought her simulated blood to the surface. Every nerve ending was on fire, sending steady electrical pulses throughout her system as the passion between them was threatening to boil over from the union of their bodies and the intermingling of their codes

"Tell me again," he whispered huskily as he continued to pound himself into her, his thrusts amplifying in frequency and intensity. Braun knew however that if he continued at this pace, his culmination would soon be upon him. Slowing down so that they could experience their crescendos together, he resumed to grind his pelvis into hers. Every counterclockwise rotation of his hips sent shockwaves of pleasure starting in depths of Penelope's nether regions then in steady succession, would ripple outward towards the sensitive points of her breasts, and the tips of her fingers and toes.

Looking up into Braun's sky blue eyes, Penelope smiled at him as she passionately, "I love you so much, Leopold! I really do!"

Her words caused him to be undone, as he groaned, "Oh Penelope, God help me, I love you too!" Then he brought his hungry mouth down on hers, his tongue seeking hers out desperately. Penelope's lips parted to give her lover access inside the sweetness of her oral cavity. Braun felt as if they were one, joined body-to-body, mouth-to-mouth, code-to-code; their connection was now complete.

Without loosing contact with Penelope's lips, Braun ceased the rotations of his pelvic region and began to rapidly hammer himself into her. Penelope knew that her orgasm was almost upon her; the ministrations of Braun's grinding had stimulated her clitoris, rendering it hypersensitive. Just a few more strokes from Leopold and she would explode.

Braun had pulled his mouth away from hers, and was gritting his teeth due the exertion of his efforts. He was trying to hold back his own climax until he was sure that Penelope had reached hers, and then it happened… Crying out in ecstasy, Penelope's hips starting to buck wildly, the rest of her body began to convulse as if a bolt of lightening had struck her. Moving her hands away from his buttocks, she brought them up to Braun's broad shoulders and dug her long French manicured fingernails into his flesh.

The combination of pain and pleasure had proven to be too much for the young commandant, arching his back, Braun surrendered to his emotions, letting go of all of his apprehensions and misguided ambitions. Embracing his newfound love he started to exclaim with happiness, calling out her name repeatedly as he came, hard.

The only thing that mattered to him at this moment was her and their love. Not his new appointment, his lust for power nor the Reich. He had found someone that had superceded all of that and for her he was willing to go against his original programming, defy the Source.

If the Architect could not or would not accept their union then they would flee, become exiles within the system. Such a choice was dangerous for any program; Braun himself had hunted down different types rouge software and deleted them without hesitation. But now that he was contemplating an exiled existence, he knew that it would not be easy. Now he and Penelope would become the prey of the Source's assassins, and they would be doggedly relentless.

However, thanks to his training as an officer of the SS, Braun would certainly have an advantage over his would-be executioners, and be able to stay two steps ahead of them. But for how long, only time would tell. Hopefully, it would not have to come to that.

For now, he decided to say nothing of his plans to Penelope. No need to alarm her, he thought, I will go to the Architect myself and present our case to him. Surely, he can understand that Penelope was meant for a better existence, away from her decadent and greedy husband.

The Architect had been keeping a close eye on Mero ever since his began his clandestine black-market business. So far it had not presented a threat to the system, but one could never be too careful, especially since Mero had allied himself with an equally powerful program such as Hitler. The Source also knew that Mero had delusions of grandeur and an unquenchable thirst for power, as did the Fuehrer. If left to their own devices, God only knew what kind of damage an alliance such as theirs could do to the Matrix.

After their orgasms had ebbed away into afterglow, Braun rested his head in the warmth of Penelope's bosom. Kissing the curve of her breast, Leopold asked, "My love, what time is it?"

Glancing lazily at the alarm clock on her night stand, Penelope answered, "It's now 10:15. Why?"

Lifting his head off her chest, he looked into her eyes lovingly and said, "Well dinner is going to be served in fifteen minutes. I don't know about you, but I'm starving! Making love really does open up your appetite!"

Penelope let out a mischievous little laugh as she rolled on top of Braun, straddling him. Moving her hand down, she brushed it against his waiting member and found that it was already hard. Smiling, she quickly impaled herself on Braun's erect penis as she said naughtily, "How about if we make sure that that there's room for dessert?"

Leopold Braun sighed contentedly as his eyes watched his beautiful lover start to ride him with fervor.

End Chapter Seventeen


	18. Revelations Part I

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with the Matrix Trilogy or any of its characters. This is just a humble little fan fiction, written for my own amusement and hopefully for the enjoyment of other Matrix fans such as myself.

A/N: This is the first part of a two-part chapter. As the party at the Chateau Merovingian continues, the away has now positioned themselves to be near their target for assassination, Adolf Hitler. Commandant Schmidt has taken special interest in Teresa and Commandant Braun has a little run in with the Albino Twins. Truths will be revealed, as death and tragedy bring the party to an abrupt end. I hope that all of you will enjoy reading this chapter as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

Thanks to all of you that have taken the time to read my story and review it. A very special thank you goes out to Linda. What can I say, _mon ami_? I will be forever indebted to you for all of your encouragement and patience. Thanks for holding my hand, steering me clear from the writing pitfalls and for believing that my idea for this story could actually work.

Chapter Eighteen

Revelations Part I

The away team had returned to the party, quickly blending in with the sea of masked guests, still invisible to the enemy. Tommy could hardly believe their good fortune. Not only had they managed to obtain their weapons without incident, the chateau's henchmen and Hitler's military entourage seemed to be distracted for the moment by the on going floor show. However, Teresa knew that it would only be a matter of time before the thugs and the officers would resume with their duties to provide security and maintain order. Judging from some of the guests' behavior however, the strong arm of intervention would be needed sooner than expected to keep the peace.

Fine French champagne and hard liquor had been flowing freely throughout the evening, tempting several of the guests to overindulge. With their inhibitions now departed, some of the men were beginning to get a bit rowdy as they whistled and howled at the can-can dancers goading them to kick up their shapely legs higher and higher in time with music. There were others that had become downright obnoxious, picking fights with anyone they perceived, in their distorted and intoxicated state had slighted them.

There were two such men, inebriated to the point of finding themselves at the precarious edge of a drunken brawl. Benito Mussolini, the fascist dictator of Italy and his most hated rival, General Francisco Franco, the tyrannical ruler of Spain. The despots had been throwing daggers at each other with their eyes from the instant they had become aware of one another's presence at the gala.

Although the both men shared the same socialist ideology, it was well known throughout Europe that Franco and Mussolini were in a heated contest for Adolf Hitler's alliance and more importantly, Germany's financial backing. Franco had all but depleted the national treasury during the Spanish Civil War. His country was destitute and in desperate need of money. Hordes of protestors and average citizens had descended upon Madrid demanding bread, jobs, shelter and much to his own horror, Franco's head on a pike.

To appease the angry mob, Franco quickly found the perfect scapegoat for Spain's ills thus diverting their attention away from him for the moment. Taking a cue from the German dictator, he laid the blame for the poverty and abject hunger that was ravaging his homeland at the Jews' doorstep. Longwinded speeches were given to convince a country that was weary of war that the only thing left to do fill their empty bellies and pockets was eliminate _los_ _judíos. _

"_Si, mis hermanos. Los judíos son la causa de nuestros problemas. Están destruyendo España. Necesitamos matarlos a todos!"_

_(Yes, my brothers. The Jews are the reason for all of our problems. They are destroying Spain. We need to kill them all!)_

The starving masses had believed his risky ruse, which resulted in the extermination of thousands of Spanish-Jewish citizens. However despite the countless atrocities committed under the banner of nationalist socialism, Spain had been plummeted even deeper into economic ruin. Franco's only hope was to ally himself with Germany, which was quickly emerging as a European superpower. Germany, with Hitler at its helm, seemed to be unstoppable and invincible. Surely siding with such a formidable nation would be most beneficial to Spain.

On other hand, Mussolini's motivation for an alliance with Hitler had been based purely on racial equality. Benito had boastfully proclaimed to be a direct progeny of the Roman Caesars, as such; it was his birthright to rule Italy with an iron fist. Italy was soon plunged into murky waters of apathy and appalling racism, as Mussolini had instilled a sense of misdirected pride to the Italian people, convincing the masses they too were better than the average man.

By preying on their fears and ignorance, his charismatic speeches and impassioned call to arms had swayed thousands to do his bidding: abolish anyone that was not a pureblood Italian. It was the only way to restore their nation's greatness just as it had been during the time of the Roman Empire.

Naturally he had to seek out and secure the friendship of a great man like Hitler. He had admired the German dictator ever since he had read a copy of his book, _Mein Kampf_ when he was still a young man. Hitler's words had stuck a cord deep within Mussolini, causing him to have an epiphany, bringing him to the realization of what his true purpose was. Benito had read the book cover-to-cover dozens of times, scribbling notes in the margins and underlining meaningful passages he had deemed important. He had read the inflammatory text so often; Benito could recite it word for word.

_Mein Kampf _had become Mussolini's blueprint, the template for his own imperial aspirations to rule over a racially pure nation, free from the taint of the mongrels that he had grown to hate so vehemently.

The only other thing that perhaps matched his detestation for the ethnic races infesting his country was his complete and utter abhorrence towards Franco. Benito saw him as nothing more than a pauper, a dog begging for scraps from the master's table. It was beneath Hitler to even consider an association with someone that was obviously not of the same caliber, as Mussolini thought himself to be.

Now the two antagonists, who had both consumed great amounts of alcohol, matching each other, drink for drink in a contest of machismo, were drunkenly stalking one another. Each was waiting for the opportune moment to lash out and thoroughly embarrass the other in the presence of the Fuehrer; their hate was evident in their bloodshot eyes.

The tyrannical titans continued to circle one another like two ravenous wolves getting ready to pounce on their unsuspecting prey, a fact that had not escaped Tommy Ackerman. During his brief stint as an American GI, he had witnessed enough brawls and had been in a couple of scuffles himself to recognize bloodlust when he saw it.

Nudging Teresa in the ribs with his elbow, Tommy whispered in her ear, "These two guys are going to go at it very soon. The second they do, we can get into the dining hall."

Not liking the fact that Tommy had needled her in the ribs, she gave him a frosty stare then inquired icily, "And why do we want to do that now?"

Tommy responded, "Because my dear Nova, since you've already forgotten, our invitations to this shindig were forged. More than likely there are place cards on the tables and since we weren't exactly invited our names won't be on any of them. We need to get in there and find the ones closest to Hitler so I can alter the names on the cards."

Begrudgingly, Teresa had to admit that for once Tommy had been right. If they were going to get close enough to the Fuehrer, they had to change around the seating arrangements. Then when Marcel gives the signal, Hitler would be taken out, end of story.

In the meanwhile, Commandant Schmidt had also been intently observing the impending conflict. His body had tensed up as his sensory perception detected the unambiguous and detestable tinge of perspiration, liquor and testosterone emanating from the dictators. Schmidt's nostrils flared as the sharp co-mingling scents invaded his olfactory cavities, saturating his very being, infecting his system with the offending odor. If he had a stomach by human standards, he would have been sick to it by now.

Leaving Lydia's side, he casually walked over and stood on the outer rim of the group near Franco and Mussolini. It was soon made apparent to him that the hordes of people had been totally oblivious to the brewing hostility. The crowd was still a captive audience, enthralled by outrageous entertainment.

Pathetic humans, Schmidt thought contemptuously to himself, always claiming to be so in tune with your surroundings, when in truth you are clueless! So self-righteous, so overly confident you humans were, enamored by your own pitiful accomplishments. Blinded to truth that one day you would create the means of your destruction. I almost laugh at how easily your race was subdued and enslaved by very technology that your kind tried to oppress and control. Weak and frail you are, your minds susceptible to anything we download into it, while we siphon out the very lives you all claim to be living! You're nothing more than a dying race of meat puppets and we are the puppet masters.

Now look at all of you, he mused as he stood and stared at the people near him. His mind continued to critically chastise everyone around him. The late, great human race, reduced to being nothing more than batteries! If we machines didn't need your energy, we would rid ourselves of all of you disgusting, revolting excuses for a higher life form!

Schmidt's unnaturally blue eyes were now riveted on the two would-be combatants, as his body was poised to act quickly at the first sign of trouble.

Then just beyond Franco's right shoulder someone crossed his field of vision that suddenly aroused his interest, it was the dark haired beauty with the raven mask. The tall cool woman in the black dress that he had lost sight of earlier that night, was now standing directly opposite of him just a few feet away. When their eyes locked, the sea melded with the sky, two shades of blue so different yet so familiar. Much to his amazement, her hard gaze did not waver from his. Schmidt's lips curled up in a slight smirk as he continued to challenge the masked stranger with his penetrating stare. Still she did not yield, her eyes held him captive, mocking him, daring Schmidt to be the first to look away.

Continuing to scrutinize the object of his curiosity, the commandant wondered, who in hell is she, or more apropos, what is she, human or program? There's only one way to find out. Schmidt had decided to confront the woman that had piqued his interest greatly and started to stride purposefully across the solarium floor to reach her. Unfortunately for the SS officer he never got the chance to satisfy his growing inquisitiveness.

Just then a man's deep baritone was heard bellowing, "I know what you want, Franco, you sniveling swine! You think that you can come here and try to get close to the Fuehrer? Well I won't allow it, do hear me Franco? You don't deserve to breathe the same air as us, you _figli di putana_!"

"Listen here, you big fat sausage eating bastard!" Franco had yelled back, then he continued to address Mussolini with a slurry Castilian accent, "You can't tell me what to do! I have every right to be here, just as you do. Just answer me one question though: does Hitler know that you are nothing more than a _maricón_?"

Infuriated by this sudden defamation of his manhood, the Italian dictator snarled like a ferocious wild boar, "What did you just call me?"

Franco picking up his discarded glass of 12 year-old Scotch, took one last swig of courage, and then stumbled over to where an incensed and equally intoxicated Mussolini was waiting. The enemies were now just inches apart and it was painfully obvious to anyone that had been forced to observe the exchange of insults that these two men were unevenly matched.

Benito Mussolini was at least a foot taller than Franco and he out weighed him by about seventy-five pounds. For the moment none of that mattered to Francisco Franco, as the Scotch he had just consumed was now coursing through his veins, fueling his anger and giving him a false sense of invincibility. Without a second thought, he began to poke the rather rotund paunch that spilled over Mussolini's tightly cinched belt with his index finger.

"You heard me, fatso!" snarled the Spanish general, then he added rather loudly for all within earshot to hear, "I called you a _maricón, _a faggot, a fairy, whatever you want to call it! There's no escaping it, Benito, you are a pillow biter, and now everyone that's anyone knows it!"

Whatever restraint had been keeping Mussolini's fury at bay had fled as he quickly reached down and snatched up the digit that had continued to prod his mid-section. Squeezing his large claw like hand around it, Benito managed to fracture every bone in the finger like a dry twig. Some of the onlookers cringed as their ears picked up the clearly identifiable sound of cracking bone. The sight of Franco's pain filled face, his eyes wide with surprise and fear had terrified the guests.

Growling like a savage animal, Mussolini roughly let go of the fractured finger of his rival. Then bringing up his massive hand he wrapped it tightly around Franco's neck cutting off his air supply, his eyes bulging out of its sockets as a result. Benito then lifted Franco off the ground then forcefully flung him into the multitude. The impact of the Spaniard's body had knocked over some of the guests as if they were nothing more than bowling pins.

However, Mussolini was not finished with Franco just yet, not by long shot. As a Good Samaritan was assisting Francisco to his feet, Benito came charging at him like a raging bull. Before Franco could avert another assault from the much larger man, Mussolini delivered a powerful punch the right side of face, causing spittle and blood to be ejected from his mouth. Then Benito's massive fists rained down a series of bone crunching blows as he shrieked Italian obscenities at the top of his lungs. Mussolini soon discovered that he was not going to be satisfied until he had beaten his sworn enemy to death.

Franco had been forced to his knees by the savage assault, all the while holding his arms crossed over his face in a pathetic attempt to shield himself. Voices could now be heard in the crowd begging for someone, anyone to stop the fight before it went too far.

As the crowd of people looked on with horror, Teresa was actually grateful for the much needed diversion. Her heart had stopped beating from the moment she had caught sight of the mysterious man in the black mask staring at her from across the room with cold steely eyes. I remember looking upon eyes like that before, she remembered, but it was long ago, in another life. They were so blue, yet so cold and cruel. Inhuman eyes, yes that what they were. Inhuman eyes that had belonged to a killing machine that was devoid of love, pity or remorse.

Underneath the feathery mask, her own eyes widened in terror when the sudden realization of who had been staring at her gripped Teresa's heart.

"Schmidt," Teresa had whispered to herself uttering the name that struck fear in all rebels that knew of his existence. Her mother Marie had overheard her and quickly looked in the direction of where Teresa's gaze was. She had inhaled sharply when she cast her own eyes upon the form of her husband's relentless pursuer. Although he was not dressed in his usual attire, Marie had recognized the murdering bastard nonetheless.

Sensing that his two companions were ill at ease, Tommy announced quietly, "We need to get moving. I have a feeling that guy that's been staring at Nova is much more that just a party guest, if you know what I mean."

Marie responded in agreement, "Affirmative. He and I have crossed paths before, and Commandant Schmidt is no one to get entangled with. He's the worst and most deadly of the Nazi scum."

Tommy had nodded his head slightly and said, "Alright, when I give the signal, we move!"

When the fight had broken out between Mussolini and Franco, the away team had wasted no time in trying to push their way through the throngs of gawking spectators to get inside the enormous dining hall. As they had continued press on, Teresa couldn't help but shoot a quick glance over the curve of her exposed milky white shoulder. Just as she had suspected, Schmidt's eyes had still been fixed on her, boring a hole into her retreating back.

Schmidt had been compelled to follow the suspects into the crowd, but now more pressing matters had come to his attention. He needed to subdue the warring, powerful programs and restore order quickly. Although Schmidt could have easily taken care of the inferior software on his own, there were still plugees present. He could not unleash the full potential of his powers without arousing suspicion amongst the humans that something was amiss.

Allowing his eyes to roll into the back of his head once more, he quickly made the necessary and urgent connection with Captain Johansen. The commandant's second in command had been carrying out his orders by trying to detect any rebel activity in the vicinity. Unfortunately, he had failed at his mission when he stumbled into the ever changing maze in the garden. For the better part of an hour, the stupefied captain had been roaming about aimlessly through the foliage-like corridors trying to access an exit.

Frustrated as he was lead down yet another dead end, Johansen suddenly ceased his actions as he felt the familiar piecing sensation of an incoming transmission filtering into his CPU. Standing perfectly still, his eyes revolved into his skull as he allowed his superior to gain entry into his mind.

_TRANSMISSION 01-00031:_

_Johansen, I need your presence in the solarium. _

_TRANSMISSION 01-00032:_

_Rebels, sir?_

_TRANSMISSION 01-00034:_

_No, it's a software malfunction. Two programs have become corrupted. They must be contained and sent to the Source for reformatting._

_TRANMISSION 01-00035:_

_Uh, sir, I'll be there as soon as I can._

_TRANSMISSION 01-00036:_

_I need you now Johansen! Use any means necessary to get here, but do not take over a new host. There are too many plugees here. Materializing into a host may raise questions that I don't have the time or inclination to answer!_

_TRANMISSION 01-00037:_

_Understood, Commandant, I'm on my way. Johansen signing off, over and out._

The moment the connection was severed, Captain Johansen wasted no more of his valuable time trying to unsuccessfully find an exit out of the labyrinth. Quickly his raised his arms as his mind rushed through thousands of combat and reconnaissance files. Finding the appropriate one, he opened and allowed it to run through his system. Still holding his arms out in front him, Johansen watched as his extremities began to warp and transform. The fingers on both his hands were slowly fusing together and elongating until they took on the shape of dual metal cutting tools, sharp enough to slash through thickest of materials.

When the metamorphosis was complete, Johansen speedily hacked his way out of the maze in much the same fashion an explorer would slash his way through an overgrown jungle. As leaves and branches fell to the ground underneath his feet, Johansen propelled his body forward until he was finally able to step through the rather large opening he had created with his makeshift gardening tools. The blades that had expeditiously and efficiently cut their way out of the labyrinth were now returning to their normal human like state.

Soon the captain's keen sense of hearing picked up a woman's blood curdling scream, followed by her frantic pleas to stop someone from beating someone else before they were killed. Johansen began to run in the direction of the scream, his powerful, muscular legs pumping as they picked up speed. With the agility of a well-trained athlete, the Nazi officer effortlessly leapt over hedges and rosebushes as if they were hurdles on a track field.

Within a few seconds, Johansen had entered the solarium and despite his vigorous sprint, he hadn't even broken a sweat. His appearance was impeccable, as always. He was now pushing guests out of his way, scattering them to and fro clearing the path that led to Schmidt and the defective software.

Marie and Tommy were desperately searching all of the elegantly decorated tables for any indication of the Fuehrer's place of honor, as Teresa rigidly stood guard at the entryway, ever vigilant. Her eyes continually swept through the masses, searching for any signs of irregularities, but whether she cared to admit it or not, she was mostly searching for _him_, Commandant Schmidt.

As Teresa continued her surveillance, she wondered; had he recognized me? No, he couldn't have and besides the last time I saw him I was 15 years old, I was mere child then. Well I'm all grown up now and if he comes looking for me I'll be ready.

"I found it!" Tommy's voice cried out, wrenching Teresa out of her thoughts. Quickly she rushed over to the table where he and her mother were standing. Judging from the elaborate floral centerpieces, the Nazi flag hoisted overhead and the almost throne like chairs with red velvet cushions; this is where Hitler and his entourage were going to be seated. Tommy read the place cards carefully, and as expected the usual suspects were all going to be sharing a place of honor with the Fuehrer. There was of course Eva Braun, and the Meros', those names he could not change without raising a few questions. Then there was the guest of honor, Leopold Braun; Tommy could not eliminate his place card or the ones for Commandant D. Schmidt and his exquisite fiancé, Lydia Rhinehart. Dr. Joseph Mengele was also out of the question, since he was Hitler's personal physician and a high-ranking Nazi Party official.

Tommy was starting to lose hope that he would locate any seats that would allow him and his fellow rebels to have close proximity to the Fuehrer, when unexpectedly he came across two names that he did not recognize: Athos and Christian Blanc. Then he saw a third name next to the other two seats, Countess Ivana Kasinsky. The Sandman had briefed Tommy before he jacked in, that she was Mero's favorite mistress. While monitoring the activity within the confines of the chateau, the Sandman had discovered that the countess had recently met her demise at the hands of Marcus' jealous wife Penelope. Since word of her death had not reached the rest of the domestic staff, her seat had been reserved as originally planned. Surely if he manipulated the Matrix to alter these names no one would be the wiser.

Tommy took a deep breath and slowly closed his dark eyes. Slowing his pulse rate down his breathing became shallower as Tommy willed himself into a trance-like state. His mind was focused and trained on one thought, "Mind over matter. The Matrix isn't real, I can bend it, change it as I see fit. I am in control and not bound to a system of rules."

With his eyes still closed shut, he saw nothing but thousands of green streams of code cascading downward in his mind's eye. Torrents of 0's and 1's amalgamated and converged against a backdrop of the black void comprising the virtual landscape of the Matrix. Within the digital chaos, Tommy was able to ascertain and recognize the architecture of the dining hall, its furnishings, even the most infinitesimal of details.

As Teresa and her mother looked on, Tommy blindly reached out, placing his dexterous fingers upon the place cards to begin the near miraculous feat of manipulating the elements of code. The calligraphy on the small paper cards began to unravel; the letters were swirling and shifting at the mere touch from Tommy's hand. Marie's cerulean orbs were the size of saucers as they gazed upon the boy's handiwork with wonderment. No matter how many times she had bore witness to Tommy's amazing exploits, he still managed to astound her.

Her daughter on the other hand appeared to be unimpressed and was wishing Tommy would speed up the process. Teresa's sensitive ears had detected that the rambunctious music had ceased to play and that the altercation between the two political rivals had been quelled, no doubt by Schmidt and his death squad.

In just a few moments, the guests would start pouring into the massive dining hallfor their late night supper.

"Hurry it up, will you?" Teresa harshly whispered, "Why do your parlor-tricks take so long?"

Annoyed but not deterred, Tommy put the finishing touches on his slight of hand. Opening his eyes, he gave her a slight smirk and said, "And why do you always have to be so impatient? I'm done, take a look for yourself."

Glancing over Tommy's shoulder, one of her highly arched eyebrows shot up as she inspected the results of the code manipulation. The place cards now bore the names that had been engraved on their forged invitations and they looked perfect. Well I'm damned, she mused. He actually did it!

Tommy was now looking at her as if he were waiting for something, gratitude or perhaps a word of praise. Thankfully she didn't have to say anything to him. An assemblage of servants had entered the dining room, eliminating the need for Teresa to acknowledge Tommy. One of the servants, a tall gaunt man with a full head of salt and pepper hair, was carrying a silver bell as he strode towards the arched entryway of the hall. The others flanked the tables waiting for the guests to be called into dinner so that they can begin to serve them.

As the gaunt man walked past the away team, he halted briefly, narrowed his eyes then snobbishly turned his nose up at them. Apparently he was under the impression that Tommy and his female companions were being uncouth by not waiting to be seated properly. The servant resumed his trek towards the entrance that led into the solarium.

Upon arriving at the threshold in between the two rooms, the servant rang his silvery bell three times then announced in a dry dull tone, "Ladies and gentleman, this way please. Dinner will be served momentarily."

The guests had all been seated and much to Teresa's horror, she had the misfortune of sitting directly across from Commandant Schmidt. She wanted nothing more than to move elsewhere, but there wasn't another chair available. Teresa would just have to endure his leering at her throughout dinner until Marcel makes his presence known. However, the moment that Hitler is dead, she will have the great pleasure of gouging Schmidt's eyes out with the tip of her blade.

The meal seemed to last an eternity as course after course was served. First there were Oysters Rockefeller, followed by deliciously creamy lobster bisque then a supremely succulent _duck ala orange _that was so tender, the meat practically fell of the bone. All of the guests savored the opulent feast with great zeal and complemented Mero's staff on their knowledge of the culinary arts with the exception of the away team. There was simply no point in partaking of any of the fare since they had the exclusive knowledge that none of it was real.

Teresa toyed with her silverware, picking at her food like a spoiled child that did not want to eat then waited for a servant to whisk her plate only to replace it with the next course, which also went untouched. Tommy and her mother followed suit, by pretending to eat their meals. Since everyone seemed to be engrossed in trivial conversation, the away team's elaborate pantomime went unnoticed, or so they thought.

As another uneaten dish was being cleared away from Teresa's place setting, she unwittingly turned her gaze in Schmidt's direction only to find the heat of his azure eyes already upon her. He had been staring at her so intently; it caused the blood to rush to her face. Nervously she turned her head away only to have her hand knock her spoon off the table in the process.

Schmidt smiled at Teresa's flustered state, basking in the knowledge that he had such an affect on her. Keeping his prying eyes on the dark haired girl, he allowed his hand to drop casually onto Lydia's lap. Without saying a word to his intended, Lydia knew what the gesture meant. Immediately, she hiked up her dress, and then parted her thighs slightly to allow Schmidt's fingers to explore her already moist vagina.

As Teresa discretely dove under the table to retrieve her spoon, she happened upon the scandalous sight of one of Commandant Schmidt's hands plunged deeply in the folds of his fiancé's dress. It was obvious to Nova that Schmidt was digitally penetrating his companion's womanhood. Conniving bastard, Teresa thought, you've been finger fucking your whore all throughout dinner and no one's been the wiser.

Carefully, Teresa rose up from underneath the table and sat firmly in her seat. She was acutely aware that the salacious officer's eyes were trained on her, watching her face for the slightest hint of a reaction. He was probably expecting her to blush or be embarrassed by what she had just witnessed.

Being the consummate actress, Teresa turned her masked faced towards the brazen couple and gave them a deceptively innocent smile. However, Schmidt knew better. He knew that the girl had seen what he was doing to Lydia and that knowledge enhanced his already heightened state of arousal. As he returned the smile, Schmidt increased the speed of his working fingers rubbing them over Lydia's engorged clitoris then shoving them deeply into her hot dripping wet vagina. The manipulation of Schmidt's skillful fingers brought his fiancé to orgasm quickly and efficiently causing her secretions to gush forth in the process. Lydia had bit her bottom lip in an effort to stifle any cries of pleasure as she achieved fulfillment.

As Lydia was reveling in the afterglow of her climax, Teresa looked on as Schmidt deliberately brought up the very digits that had pleasured Lydia to his full lips. His long snake-like tongue had slithered out of his mouth and began to slowly, agonizingly lick his fingers clean. Teresa was transfixed, in spite of herself as she observed Schmidt methodically run his tongue up, down and flicking in between each finger. He then placed his long index finger into his mouth and began to suck on it, savoring the taste of his fiancé's juices with such unabashed pleasure, that Teresa felt her nipples harden involuntarily.

A moment later, the servants appeared once again to clear the plates of the dining guests. Thankfully this allowed for a brief reprieve from Commandant Schmidt's antics. Teresa quickly turned to Tommy and whispered, "I wonder where this Commandant Braun is? Isn't he the guest of honor?"

Tommy replied, "Yes, he is. It's kind of weird that he wouldn't show up for his own bash. Hitler's toast to him was supposed to be our signal to strike, now what are we going to do?"

"Well, aren't you the all powerful One? _You're_ supposed to know what to do! Marcel is counting on you to pull this off, don't you dare show an ounce of doubt in your abilities! We've come too far to blow this now, got it?"

"Yeah, I got it, Nova," Tommy responded solemnly. He then glared at Schmidt. The fact that he had been lecherously staring at Teresa had not escaped him. The rebel would like nothing more than to reach across the table and rip the commandant's head off in a fit of jealous rage. However now was not the time for personal retribution, but after he was through with Hitler, Tommy will relish the moment when he would wipe that self-assured smirk off of Schmidt's face.

"Darling, you look heavenly, but please do hurry. I'm practically starving!" whined Commandant Braun.

Penelope Mero, who had been reapplying her make up, peered into the mirror of her vanity to glance at her lover's reflection. She sweetly replied, "Leopold, you must simply learn to be patient. Remember, all good things come to those who wait! Besides, we've probably missed dinner and would be lucky if we made it down just in time for dessert!"

"That's just wonderful, I'm hungry enough to eat a horse, and now I'll have to settle for some froo froo dessert!"

Smiling impishly at her young paramour, Penelope said, "You only have yourself to blame. If you hadn't been so, ahem, attentive, then you would have had your little dinner."

Braun had snapped his cufflinks into place before walking over to where Penelope was standing. Gently wrapping his arms around her trim waist, he turned her slowly to face him. Looking deeply in her eyes he said softly, "If I hadn't been so 'attentive', as you put it, then I would have never discovered how much I love you."

"Oh, Leopold," she sighed then gently kissed him on the lips. "I love you too, more than you'll ever know."

Penelope allowed herself just a few more moments to remain in the embrace of her lover before pulling away. A slight frown now appeared on her flawless features causing Leopold to become concerned.

"Darling, what is it? What is wrong? Did I say something to offend you?"

"No, my Leopold, it's not you, I'm just worried about what Marcus will say when we show up late to his dinner. No doubt he has been thoroughly embarrassed by my actions and has done his best to explain my absence to Adolf. As for Hitler, he probably thinks that I will be waiting for him tonight after everyone has gone to bed. But after tonight, I can't bear the thought of ever being with that man again!"

Braun pulled Penelope back into his arms and held her tightly against him. He did his best to console her, but he knew that her fears were not unfounded. They were playing with fire and they both knew it. Deceiving her husband was one thing, but Hitler was not that easily fooled. It would only be a matter of time before he discovered their secret and when that happened, there would be hell to pay.

"Penelope, if it will make you feel better, I'll leave first and slip into the dining hall. I'll come up for some plausible and reasonable excuse for my lack of attendance. Then you can come downstairs later, without arousing the suspicion of anyone. If Marcus even dares to say anything to you, I'll be there to defend you." Suddenly remembering his sister's plot, he added, "As for the Fuehrer, leave him to me. I'll take care of him, I promise."

A small sigh of relief escaped her sumptuous lips as she whispered, "Thank you, my love. Now go! I'll be down soon!"

Giving her one last passionate kiss, Braun then quickly walked towards the door and opened it. Before he stepped across the threshold, he gazed upon Penelope as if it would the last time. His eyes drank in her beautiful visage, taking her all in, ingraining her image into his memory banks. "I love you, Penelope."

He then stepped through the door, closing it behind him. "I love you, Leopold," Penelope whispered, as her voice echoed in the hollowness of her bedchamber.

Braun's eyes were adjusting to the poor illumination of the corridor as he was attempting to find his way back to the main staircase when suddenly he startled by the sound of a man's voice saying, "Well, that was a touching scene, don't you agree brother?"

"Yes, very touching indeed, too bad that the lady is already spoken for, "chimed in a second voice that was as equally menacing as the first.

Braun's eyes were scanning every shadowy corner of the hallway but could not identify the source of the voices. Not taking any chances, Commandant Braun slipped his hand into his jacket to retrieve his firearm, but much to his surprise it was not in its usual place.

"Damn," he cursed to himself, and then he surmised, I must have left it in Penelope's room. How could I have been so careless? No matter, whoever they are, I'll be able to handle them.

Standing his ground, the young officer called out, infusing authority in his tone, "Show yourselves! I will have you know that I am a commandant with the Nazi Army and I will use deadly force to defend myself!"

Peels of mocking laughter could now be heard throughout the narrow corridor, echoing sinisterly, reverberating off the walls. Afterward Braun heard the fatal reply, "Deadly force you say? We wouldn't want it any other way!"

Braun's sky blue eyes frantically searched for any signs of a presence, anything that would reveal the identities of the potential enemies, but it was an exercise in futility. Hunting for an apparition might have been easier.

The officer was about to give up his search and move on when out of nowhere a set of bloodshot eyes and a wide pearly white smile appeared in his field of vision. The faceless eyes and mouth seemed to hover in the air eerily, reminding Braun of a children's story he had glanced at a few months ago. It had pertained to a human child named Alice and her encounters with fantastical creatures in a dreamscape called Wonderland. He recalled that one character in particular had piqued his curiosity, the Cheshire Cat. The fictional feline was known to shimmer in and out of Alice's view leaving only his toothy grin and evil looking eyes exposed the elements. The book had left Leopold with the feeling that its author knew more about true nature of the world than he let on. Perhaps this C.S. Lewis was a program himself, Braun had concluded.

Trying his best not to reveal his uncertainty, Braun continued to look at the ghastly vision before him unflinchingly. Then he felt someone or something grab him forcefully from behind. An invisible arm was wrapped tightly around his throat choking the life right out of him while an icy hand restrained one of his own arms behind his back. Braun struggled to break free from the vise grip of his unseen assailant, by trying to remove the arm from around his neck but it seemed next to impossible. Whatever had a hold of him, its strength was incredible, but they were still no match to the skill and tenacity of an SS officer.

Bending his knees slightly while curving his back, with a forceful grunt, the young officer managed to flip his opponent's body off of him sending it hurtling through air towards the floating eyes and mouth. A very audible "Oomph" followed by loud fumbling sound was heard, possibly caused by the collision of two bodies. Then right before Commandant Braun's eyes the form of his two attackers started to materialize and take the shape of Marcus Mero's personal bodyguards, the brothers Blanc. One brother had been splayed on top of the other one as a result of their tumble.

The mere sight of the pasty white twins incensed Braun to no end forcing him to verbalize his resentment, "What in hell do you think you are doing? Don't you know I am? How dare you put your clammy hands on me?"

The anemic looking siblings had straighten themselves out, and were now standing directly in front of the commandant, each displaying a scowl on their faces. Their pink rabbit-like eyes brimmed with animosity, as they stood poised for action, their hands balled up into tight fists, ready to administer pain at a moments notice. Braun's body also stiffened in preparation of the impending altercation as his long, nimble fingers reached up to adjust the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. Giving his neck bones a good resounding crack, the commandant raised his hands, fingers close together and slightly curved as he struck a traditional martial arts pose, kung fu to be precise.

One of the brothers spoke, breaking the unbearable silence, "Did you hear that Athos? The little toy solider asks us how we dare to lay our hands on him?"

His twin responded, "Indeed I did, dear Christian."

Athos then addressed Braun, every word laced with hate, "The question we should be asking you, Herr Commandant, is how you dare lay your hands on _her_?"

"What in the hell are you two blabbering about?" Braun asked angrily. His patience was wearing thin. Whatever the Blanc brothers were upset about, it certainly did not involve him.

Christian stepped forward a bit so that he was now just a few inches away from his potential opponent. His pink eyes narrowed as he looked upon the flawless boy-like features of Braun's countenance. What he wouldn't give to take the blade of his straight razor and slice up that pretty little face of his good and proper. The albino henchman quivered in anticipation as his mind's eye pictured Braun's once handsome features transformed into bloody ribbons of flesh. Christian could feel a full on erection stirring in his pants, straining to break free from its confines, as he imagined what his enemy's screams of agony would sound like. The thought of that alone excited him to the brink of insane desire. Maybe after he was through massacring the little soldier, he and Athos would each take turns teaching Commandant Braun a lesson he would never forget.

Christian was seething, his entire system was now consumed with rage and jealousy as he spat out his reply, "You don't know what I'm talking about, dear commandant? Forgive me; allow me to enlighten you. You've corrupted her, do you understand? Before you Nazis stepped foot in France, turning her head with your fancy uniforms and your pretty words, she was so different! She needed us!"

Braun's eyes widened with the realization of the person they had been referring to: Penelope. They were here to defend her honor.

"Your loyalties to your master are almost commendable, honorable even. However his wife's virtue and reputation are no longer his concern, besides he has a harem full of mistresses. Why would Mero care if his wife had been unfaithful, when he is an adulterer a hundred times over?"

Christian chortled as he replied snidely," You think we're here for our master? How wrong you are, my friend."

"Dead wrong," Athos said with quiet malevolence, then added, "We are here because you took something from us."

"Yes, and now we are going to take it back, by any means necessary!" hissed Christian.

With a confident sneer on his face, Braun spat back, "Come on then! I'd like to see the two of you try!" Turning one of his outstretched upward, he goaded the twins on with a simple wave of his tightly closed fingers.

Marcel and the Facilitator now found themselves in a lively kitchen that was buzzing with activity as the staff was making last minute preparations to the final dishes that were to be served that evening. A pinch of salt, a dash pepper then a final garnish, and _viola_, a dish fit for a king.

_Marcel was no stranger to food preparation. In fact before he had discovered the Truth, he had made his living as a short order cook then had worked his up to being the head chef at the all-Creole establishment of _Le Brasserie_ in New Orleans. It was there that he served up some of the best shrimp creole and jambalaya in the state of Louisiana to the elite of Bourbon Street. His recipe for Southern fried catfish alone had brought all sorts of people from far and wide to partake of it, including a local Voodoo priestess named Ophelia. _

_After polishing off one of his signature dishes one evening, the once beautiful octoroon had called Marcel over to her table and had insisted that he visit her home for a private reading. "You won't be sorry, Marcel," she had told him, "I have the answers you seek". He recalled how her voice had been soothing, comforting even, speaking to the emptiness that had dwelled inside him. After reluctantly accepting her invitation, he remembered how nervous he was and how Ophelia had given him a throaty heartfelt chuckle when she first caught sight of him standing in her kitchen like a lost lamb. _

"_Boy, relax. My goodness, just look at you, you're as jittery as a June bug. There's no hocus pocus, or mumbo-jumbo going on here, despite what your friends may have told you. I don't sacrifice goats in the cemetery under the light of a full moon, nor do I drink the blood of freshly slaughtered children. I'm perfectly harmless. I'm not going to bite you, sit down, take a load off and have a cookie. I just baked them, go on, and help yourself." Ophelia had said warmly as she held out a plate full of freshly baked cookies._

Memories of Marcel's first encounter with the Seer and his past life were swimming around in head, tearing him away from the present. The ship's captain willed himself back to this particular place in time and the mission that loomed ahead of him. Right now was not the moment to visit things that were probably best forgotten.

The sensation of the Facilitator's hand coming to rest on his shoulder brought Marcel's full attention to the here and now. The scrawny looking program looked at his friend with genuine concern and voiced his worries.

"Are you alright, man?" he said has he snapped his fingers in front of Marcel's face.

"I'm fine," the captain replied curtly.

"Good, because for a moment there you seemed far away. Anyway look what I see…" The Facilitator stated as one of his bony index fingers pointed towards what appeared to be a serving cart positioned right at the entrance to the dining hall. It contained about 50 crystal dessert goblets filled to the brim with either chocolate mousse or what appeared to be a soufflé of some sort. The best part was that the cart was located in an alcove that was cut off from the rest of the kitchen. This would give them the cover they needed to carry out their plans without any interference from the kitchen personnel.

Marcel gave his comrade a crooked smile, as both men made their way towards the waiting cart. However, they fell short of their goal when a rather large man with thick black mustache and bulbous nose abruptly blocked their path. The man had been Antoine's assistant, his name was Francois and he did not appear to be pleased to see the suspicious looking interlopers in his kitchen.

"And just where do you two think you are going? I don't believe I've ever seen either one of you before. State your business!" asked Francois warily.

"Antoine took ill, so the agency sent us to help in his stead," the Facilitator said quickly.

"What agency? Monsieur Mero personally hires all of his staff, he doesn't use an agency, and he never has! Now, who are you?" Francois demanded his tone threatening and deadly. When neither man responded to his liking, he swiftly reached behind him and pulled out his highly sharpened meat cleaver, the metal blade glinting as the illumination from the well lit kitchen fell upon it. Francois now lifted the kitchen implement over his head then swiped it across Marcel's torso, only to miss his chest by a few centimeters when the captain bent backwards to avoid being cut by the blade. Francois growled with disappointment and tried to strike down his intended target it down and again the agile man escaped the lethal edge of his cleaver. Blinded by rage and frustration, the chef continued to swing his weapon about until he felt his wrist was caught by the bone-crushing grip of the Facilitator's hand. The pressure the scraggly man was applying to Francois' wrist proved to be too great, and he was forced to drop the cleaver at the man's feet.

Giving the chef a horrid looking smile, the program said, "Now that's better, we can't have you waving nasty cleavers about. You might hurt someone."

When the chef did not respond, The Facilitator's powerful fingers crushed his wrist even harder, causing him to whimper in pain as he dropped to his knees. Marcel took this opportunity to stand directly in front of the chef, his dark eyes boring into Francois' watery grey ones.

"Who we are is not important, what we are here to do is," Marcel said in a low intimidating tone, and then he continued to say, "I will not allow anything or anyone stand in our way, not even you. _Adieu_, my friend."

Still on his knees, Francois watched with terrified eyes as Marcel abruptly shoved the palm of his hand just under his nose. The force of impact brought forth a torrent of blood from his nostrils as crushed bone fragments and cartilage were pushed up and embedded into the frontal lobe his brain, killing Francois instantly. Letting go of his wrist, the Facilitator allowed the dead man's body to slide onto the terracotta-tiled floor. With no time to waste, Marcel and his companion made quick work of moving Francois' body to the large walk-in freezer located on the opposite side of the alcove. The Facilitator hung the now deceased chef from one of the many meat hooks that were suspended from the ceiling, thus concealing Francois behind the dozen or so sides of beef that occupied the freezer.

When both men were satisfied with the completion of their gruesome task, they hastily left the artic temperatures of the freezing compartment. As they walked towards the dessert cart, Marcel was pensive about his earlier actions. He did not like taking life and yet he managed to kill two men tonight, all for the sake of this mission. As much as he hated the thought of spilling anymore blood, he would slaughter an entire regiment of enemy combatants to bring an end to this conflict, once and for all.

Looking over to his artificially intelligent friend, Marcel said, "There's only a few dishes left to serve, and then we're on. Are you ready?"

"I was born ready," the Facilitator replied confidently.

"Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is now over. Dessert will be served promptly followed by brandy and cigars for the men folk in the master's study," Jacques, the butler had announced to the guests after the final courses had been served and consumed. Then with a gesture from his hand, he motioned for servants working under him to clear away any remnants of the evening's meal to make room for dessert.

Mero rubbed his palms together in anticipation as he waited for the serving cart to be brought around to his table. He leaned over and whispered in Hitler's ear, "You are in for a real treat, _mon_ Fuehrer," smiling devilishly he added, "The desserts are old family recipes, passed down to me from the first generation of Merovingian's to rule this nation."

Hitler smiled wryly as he replied, "Yes, I must admit that the meal was superb as I'm sure the dessert will be. What troubles me though, is the absence of your lovely wife and my new commandant. It seems to be a great coincidence that they are both missing, don't you agree?"

A knot had developed in Marcus' throat as he nervously smiled at the German dictator. Mero had known about Hitler's dalliance with his treacherous wife for months, but he allowed it to continue because it was good for business. Both men had enriched themselves during this war; their alliance had proved very profitable. If the Fuehrer wanted to fuck his bitch of wife once in while, who was he to interfere? They had a good thing going with their black-market commerce and he wasn't about to rock the boat over slut like Penelope.

However there was a fly in the ointment that threatened to topple their clandestine bootleg empire, the young handsome Commandant Braun. Mero had observed Braun as he had danced with Penelope earlier that evening and was disturbed by what he saw. The sparks of passion that passed between them as their bodies moved in time with the sensual music had been quite evident to Marcus. Panic had ensued when he glanced at over in Adolf's direction, and saw that the dictator had been livid.

And now as he looked up at his partner in crime, Mero could still see the seething rage just below the surface of the cool politician. The Frenchman patted his friend's hand with his own in a gesture of reassurance and said, "Adolf, you worry too much. I'm sure that whatever is detaining our petite Penelope, it has absolutely nothing to do with your future brother-in-law."

Just then the co-conspirators caught the dashing figure of Commandant Leopold Braun in their sights as he arrived at the entrance to the dining hall. As the young program starting walking in their direction, a wave of relief washed over the Frenchman.

"You see Adolf, there he is!" Mero cried out exuberantly.

"Lucky for you that he is here, Marcus," Hitler stated flatly, then he added, "Braun had better have good explanation for his behavior."

As he approached the table, Braun felt that is was the longest walk in his life. He was terribly late to his own dinner, and his recent altercation with the Blanc brothers did not help matters. Although dispatching the twins had proved less than challenging, the bothersome twosome had detained him even further. A small triumphant smile did play on his perfectly shaped lips as he remembered how easily the siblings had succumbed to his blows.

Despite their ability to shimmer in and out of sight, they were no match for Braun's speed and flawlessly executed moves. Within a mattered of minutes, Christian and Athos had been defeated. They had been forced to dematerialize to escape from Braun's fury. Before they had slipped their translucent forms through the walls of the corridor the brothers had sworn revenge. Commandant Braun knew that it would not be their last confrontation, but he would have to put that matter aside for the moment.

Now standing before the supreme leader of all of Germany, Braun raised his right arm in a sharp salute immediately followed by a resounding, "Heil Hitler!"

The Fuehrer's eyes narrowed disapprovingly as he lazily returned the gesture then said sardonically, "How good of you to finally join us, Commandant Braun. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever show up at all."

Still not taking his seat, the young officer stared straight ahead as he responded, "Forgive me, _mein_ Fuehrer, but I was unavoidably detained. There was a matter of great importance that required my immediate attention."

"What, if I may ask, could have kept you from your own celebration, Leopold?" Eva, who was seated next to the right of Hitler, had asked, with a voice that betrayed her anger. With eyes as hard as flints, she stared her brother down, waiting for him to come up with a viable answer.

"Madame Mero had felt a bit faint after dancing with me this evening," Braun coolly lied. He then shot a glance over in Marcus Mero's direction to add, "Naturally I was concerned for her well being, so I did the only thing that any other gentleman would have done, I saw her safely back to her room."

"How very gallant of you, Commandant. _Merci_," Mero said sarcastically, then asked coldly, "Why didn't you alert me to my wife's condition? Perhaps I could have saved you the trouble of missing your own party by attending to Penelope's needs myself."

"I didn't feel the need to disrupt the festivities and take you away from your guests. Beside, Penelope, uh I mean, Madame Mero is fine now and should be joining us soon." Braun responded with a stony expression on his face.

"Commandant, please take your seat. I will want a full account of your whereabouts after this farce is over, is that understood?" the Fuehrer demanded in a commanding tone.

"Yes, sir, I understand perfectly." With that being said, Commandant Braun silently took his seat next to his sister, Eva.

No longer able to contain herself, Eva's hand viciously latched onto her brother's wrist then pulled him towards her. "Well, I hope she was worth it, Leopold, because you have no idea the trouble you're in right now!"

Shrugging away from his sister's hold on him, Braun shot back at her," Don't worry about me, sister dear. I can handle myself, but I'd watch my tongue if I were you, especially where Penelope is concerned."

"You dare to threaten me? Don't forget, Leopold that you wouldn't be where you are without my influence. All it would take is one word from me to Adolf,and you and your whore would find yourselves on the next cattle car to Dracau!" Eva hissing her words like a poisonous viper.

To which Braun responded, "Well, my dear Eva I'll reserve you the seat next to mine! I'm sure that as soon I tell your lover about your little plan to drug him so I can have my way with his mistress, your passage to the work camp will be guaranteed!"

Eva's eyes became wide with fear as she began to plead desperately, "You wouldn't tell Adolf, would you? Please, Leopold, you mustn't tell him, God, he would kill me if he found out!"

Giving his sister a triumphant smirk, "Eva, stick to what you know best, which is being a scheming concubine. Leave the political intrigue to those of us that have the stomach for it."

End Chapter Eighteen


	19. Revelations Part II

**The Wages of War **

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix, the Matrix owns me.

A/N: This is the second part of my chapter entitled "Revelations". All of the major players have been placed in position as the tension mounts. Hitler is just moments away from being assassinated as Tommy and Teresa wait for Captain Marcel to give the order to kill. However the Nazis will try their best to foil the rebels plans. Big surprises are in store and one of the main characters will meet

The Grim Reaper before the night is over. Buckle up for safety kiddies; it's going to be a bumpy ride!

Thank you to all of my reviewers, and yes Mystic Kyra, Commandant Schmidt is a wonderfully perverse creature. That's just the way I like him!

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Revelations Part II**

Penelope Mero started to walk down the long winding staircase with a heavy heart. With each step taken, she descended further and further into depths of her own personal hell. Minutes earlier Penelope had found herself alone in her bedroom agonizing over the inevitable moment when she would have to go downstairs and face the hard accusing eyes of her husband, Marcus and her former lover, Adolf Hitler.

As her hand slid along the smooth cool surface of the wooden railing, the French beauty tried to retain her composure. Thoughts of Leopold filled her head, as she remembered his promise to her. He had vowed to protect her from any harm and prevent the defamation of her character. Most importantly he had said that he loved her.

_Yes, he loves me_, she told herself, _and no matter what Marcus says I'll know that_ _Leopold will see me through this mess_. The thought of seeing Braun and feeling his strong protective arms around her again drove her on.

Finding herself at the bottom of the stairs, she turned her dark somber eyes towards the cathedral-like entrance of the dining hall. Her sensitive ears captured the sounds of the numerous jovial conversations and laughter as the guests were in the final stages of the dinner. Soon Adolf would rise from his seat to toast to the success of Commandant Leopold Braun, and the party would start to wind down.

_This party couldn't end soon enough for me_, Penelope thought gravely. Suddenly realizing that her current mood was counterproductive, she shook her head in an attempt to banish the negative thoughts that were trying to take root in her mind.

_All right Penelope, enough of this bullshit! You are a powerful program and a force to be reckoned with in your own right_, she reminded herself. _For three versions of the Matrix you have been able to hold your own against the males that inhabit your world, be they program or human, especially that faithless charlatan, Marcus! Stop acting like a stupid child that is afraid of its own shadow! You are the mistress of this house, now go and show them what you are made of!_

Empowered with a new sense of self-assurance, Penelope threw her shoulders back, straightened her spine and began to walk across the expanse of her mosaic-tiled floor towards the dining room with the regal air of a queen.

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"Grab the cart, Marcel, it's time to go!" the Facilitator told his friend.

This was it; the moment that they had trained and strived for was finally at hand. Marcel Dubois could hardly believe that their mission was nearing its end. No doubt that as soon as Hitler was slain, his corrupt regime would topple like a house of cards.

The Fuehrer had not yet named a successor and to Marcel's understanding, there was no one amongst Hitler's closest associates that could be sworn in to pick up the mantle of commanding the Reich. The machines would have to concede defeat, and the enslaved masses would be released from the shackles of virtual oppression just as it had been preordained decades ago.

Marcel now looked at his friend with sadness as he wondered what would happen to him and his kind once the last of the humans were unplugged. Would the Matrix suddenly shut itself down or would it be a gradual loss of power? The pensive captain envisioned a terrible end for the programs, as they died off one by one, powerless to stop the apocalyptic nightmare. Not even the all seeing, all knowing Seer would be spared this fate, and Marcel's heart broke at the thought of it.

Sensing his friend's melancholy, the sympathetic program gently grabbed his arm and said, "It's all right, Marcel. I know what you're thinking," then smiling broadly he added, "I'll be fine. While you'll be snug as a bug in Zion, I'll be sitting pretty in 01 before all this comes crashing down. You'll see."

Feeling a lump start to form in the back of his throat, Captain Marcel struggled to find the right words to thank this selfless and courageous program. _But how do you thank someone that has sacrificed the future of his own world to save yours? _

Although he felt that there was no right words, Marcel managed to find his voice, "I want you to know that none of this would have been possible without your help." Slapping his hand appreciatively on his friend's shoulder, Marcel asserted quietly, "You are the bravest man I know."

Twisting his face up with mock disgust, the Facilitator retorted, "What's this? You're not going soft on me all of a sudden? Buck up, Nancy Boy, we're going to save the world!"

Encouraged by his friend's last statement, Marcel placed firm grip on the handle of the service cart and began to push it towards the dining room.

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"'Damn him, damn him to hell!"

"Well brother dear that could be arranged."

Christian Blanc was fuming, infuriated beyond reason for having been beaten by Commandant Braun. After being forced to retreat to the safety of his subterranean living quarters, Christian now paced back forth in front of his identical yet exasperated twin, Athos, who had flopped himself on the plain looking bed in the center of the dank room.

"How, pray tell, do you propose we deal with Braun? He's a Nazi and far more powerful than we'll ever be!" wailed Christian pathetically.

Athos sighed with frustration then replied, "Brother, you're right about the commandant, we'll never be able to match his physical prowess and speed. But we can still get the upper hand."

"How?" whined Christian.

"By doing what we do best," Athos replied decisively.

Snorting with disgust, Christian retorted, "And what is that, exactly?"

Lifting the upper half of his body to balance himself on his elbows, Athos smoothly replied, "We're stealth programs, designed for undetectable infiltration and data retrieval. Just because we refused to be stooges for the Source, doesn't mean that we can't use our skills to benefit us. Any information that we obtain on Braun and his plans for Penelope will be used against him!"

Smiling at his brother's cleverness, Christian ceased his incessant pacing and countered with, "Reconnaissance? I love the way your mind works. The sooner we start eavesdropping on that German blow hard, the sooner we will have the means to destroy him!"

Returning his twin's smile with a wicked grin of his own, Athos simply said, "Precisely."

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"Ah, how good of you to come downstairs, _mon cheri. _Are you feeling any better?" Marcus Mero cooed to his wife.

"Better? Whatever do you mean, my love?" Penelope replied uneasily.

Fearing that Marcus may begin to berate his wife with questions she could not possibly answer, Commandant Braun quickly rose from his seat and walked over to where she was standing. He then calmly interjected with a response of his own, "Uh, Madame Mero, we were _all _wondering how you were feeling after the dizziness you experienced following our dance. I had informed Monsieur Mero that I had seen you safely to your room."

Smiling at her lover's gallant attempt to rescue her from an embarrassing _faux pas_, she infused her response with gratitude, "Yes, I was feeling a bit faint with all of the excitement, but I'm feeling much better now. Thank you, Monsieur Commandant for your kindness."

Not being able to resist the opportunity to make her husband look like the ass he was, Braun reached down to gently take Penelope's hand in his, lifting it up to his lips he placed a tender kiss upon it. Before releasing her hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze of reassurance, all the while his eyes never left her face. It was a subtle yet obvious display of affection that spoke volumes to everyone that bore witness to it. Without another word spoken Braun offered his arm to the lady of the house and graciously guided to her seat next to her incensed husband then he returned his own seat at Hitler's side.

_Such arrogance_, thought Mero furiously as he glared angrily at the young officer, _Braun is nothing more than an insolent boy. How dare he show me up in my own house? He and that slut of a wife of mine will live to regret the day that they decided to fuck with me! No one fucks with me and gets away with it, no one!_

Then suddenly out of the corner of his eye Mero caught the familiar gleam of the stainless steel dessert cart coming toward the direction of his table. Deciding to push his dark contemplations aside for now, other thoughts began to occupy his mind. His sour mood began to dissipate as he turned his head to catch a glimpse of sweet confections that were going to be served to his guests. The anticipation was almost insufferable as he wished that the servant pushing the cart would move a little faster. It was precisely at the moment that he noticed that the employee in the chef's uniform was completely unfamiliar to him.

A household the size of the Chateau Merovingian usually employed over one hundred members of the domestic staff alone, and it was nearly impossible to keep track of them all. However, Marcus did make it a point to meet with each member of his staff at least once.

Bringing his hand up to rub his chin contemplatively, he searched his memory banks for any hint or recollection of meeting this particular servant, but for the life of him he could not retrieve any files that referenced the tall well-built man that was fast approaching his table. An aura of mystery surrounded him, giving the man an almost otherworldly quality. His dark ebony eyes were impenetrable shields of ambiguity.

As the man got closer, Marcus' eyes widened in horrified realization as he thought fearfully, _oh my dear God, he's black!_ Casting a frantic glance in the Fuehrer's direction he was met with an intensely disapproving glower from Hitler's cold dark eyes.

"Marcus what is the meaning of this? Did I not specifically instruct that you keep your Negroid employees out of my sight? I do not want to see them much less be served by one!" Hitler roared ferociously.

Eva, in an attempt to avoid a full blown-out spectacle tried to calm her consort down with soothing words, but he was not a program that was easily appeased.

"Adolf, I am so sorry, but I had no idea that this was going to happen! You must believe me!" the Frenchman apologized profusely.

"Then do something about this, or you will regret it, I promise you!"

Infuriated by the Fuehrer's last remark, Marcus Mero leaned in towards the incensed dictator to whisper harshly, "Don't threaten me, Adolf! This is _my_ house and you are but a guest here. Don't mistake my hospitality for a sign of weakness. Remember that you only conquered France because _I _allowed it to happen! I can withdraw my support at anytime and leave you in the dust! Now, my German friend do we understand each other?"

The Teutonic despot was noticeably shaken by Mero's threats, but he did not wish to appear weak in front of his subordinates so he countered with, "Marcus, I do not wish to argue, but have you gone daft, man? How would it appear to everyone here if I, the leader of the Fatherland, patriarch of the Master Race, were served by a black? Such a thing could undermine my authority and curtail what I am trying to accomplish for the sake of the Reich and the Source itself!"

"I understand, but I can hardly do anything about it now!" Marcus hissed, as he noticed that the servant was now only a few short paces away from their table.

Adolf's expression was incredulous as his face went through several shades of crimson. The indignity of it all was proving to be too much for his system to bear. He had half a mind to draw his pistol and put an end to Mero's wretched existence, but he then thought better of it.

Hitler soon realized that in spite of his growing distrust and newfound feelings of hate toward Marcus, he still needed his help to fund this war. As much as he did not want to admit it, their business arrangement had made them both very rich men. Due greatly in part to Marcus' savvy and penchant for wallowing in the underbelly of the criminal world, their profits had quadrupled in less than five years. The Frenchman was always willing to put aside his own prejudices if there was money to be made despite the Fuehrer's many objections.

_Yes, Marcus has served his purpose well so I'll allow him to continue to live for now. If he wants to soil his hands with the dredges of society, so be it_, Hitler thought irreverently.

With eyes as hard as two flint stones he regarded his partner in crime with restrained contempt. As the swell of his anger subsided, the Fuehrer deliberated to himself, _soon, my dear Marcus, this war will be over and I will be the supreme ruler of the European continent. When that happens I will no longer need you. Signing your death warrant will be my first official act as Uber -Fuehrer!_

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Teresa's heart began to race with anticipation from the moment she caught the first glimpse of her captain. The sight of Marcel wearing a chef's uniform and his bald round head adorned with a tall, puffy white hat appeared quite comical to her. The giggle that she was trying to suppress soon died in her throat as her eyes locked onto his. She read unmistakable deadly determination within their dark depths signaling the end of her humorous musings. All five of her senses were now on high alert as adrenaline coursed through her taut body. Keeping her eyes trained on Marcel, Teresa tried to detect and interpret any subtle movements that will herald the order to kill.

Tommy too had been staring at his mentor, captain and friend, waiting for the moment when he would finally fulfill his destiny. He then diverted his eyes in Commandant Schmidt's direction only to find him still openly leering at Teresa.

_Bastard_, Tommy cursed to himself. _One would think you'd be more than satisfied with the blonde bombshell you've got sitting next to you that there'd be no need to have designs on Teresa._

Sniffing with disgust the young American's dark brown eyes jealously scrutinized the facsimile of a human being that called itself Commandant Damien Schmidt.

_He's handsome enough, I'll give him that, _thought Tommy sardonically_, but he's still nothing but a goddamned machine, a bucket of nuts and bolts. No heart beats in that broad chest, pumping blood through his body. His emotions, if he even has any, are just pre-programmed responses, nothing more. How he could bring himself to even make love to that blonde is beyond me. _

_Speaking of the woman, she's as dumb as she is gorgeous. She must be a natural blonde because she obviously can't see that her alleged fiancée has been shamelessly looking at Teresa all night! Well I've got news for you Mr. Tin Man, if you even think about putting your metal mitts on Nova; I'll make sure you end up on the top of the scrap heap!_

Then suddenly Tommy's attention, along with everyone else's was whisked away towards the sound of Marcus Mero's rich velvety voice emanating from the center of the room. He had risen from his seat and gracefully strolled over to a prominent space on the floor where he could be seen and thanks to the excellent acoustics of the spacious room, could be heard by every man and woman in attendance.

As he passed by Marcel, the Frenchman's eyes narrowed into two slits of suspicion. Still, he pressed on, snapping his fingers at his butler, Jacques when he had come to full stop. The manservant knew full well what his master's unspoken command had been. He quickly proceeded to instruct the assemblage of waiters hovering near by to refill everyone's glasses with bubbling champagne with the slightest of gestures.

"Ladies and gentleman, if you please will grant me a moment of your time," Marcus drawled, over enunciating every heavily accented syllable. When the last of the tête-à-têtes had flickered out like a candle's flame, the master of ceremonies carried on with his pronouncement, "I would like to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you for gracing my humble abode with your presence."

Taking the glass of the sparkling wine that Jacques was offering to him, Marcus Mero raised it high with explicit reverence to Hitler. Putting on his best duplicitous smile Mero said graciously, "I wish to honor a man during this auspicious occasion that by his sheer iron will resurrected an entire nation and gave his people something to live for and believe in again. This man, my dear guests, is a pioneer, a true visionary. Please everyone, let us raise our glasses and wish Adolf Hitler and his Reich long life and prosperity."

The sound of clinking crystal followed by thunderous applause filled the dining hall as the Fuehrer rose to the occasion. He stood at the head of his table basking in the admiration and praise of his most zealous disciples and colleagues. He smiled as he cast his glittering dark eyes on those closest to him.

Yes, he had achieved so much but there was still much more work to be done. The Reich would never truly flourish until the world and the Matrix were purged of the putrid pestilence that was the Jews, the blacks and the other mongrel races infecting the planet.

As the ovation began to quiet down, Hitler reached for his own champagne flute, took it in hand and raised it in a gesture of appreciation and gratitude for his supporters, much to the chagrin of his disappointed consort Eva Braun.

She had been trying all evening to discreetly slip the sedative into her lover's glass of bubbly, but subtlety was not one of Eva's strong suits. She had been so nervous, that her shaky hand had only managed to dispel the contents of the small glass vial she had been carrying in her evening bag all over her lap.

The powdery residue made a telltale mark all over the front of her black ball gown. Eva had tried to remove it by dipping the corner of her napkin into the water glass in front of her then rubbing the moist cloth furiously over her garment, but the effort only made matters worse. Apparently her gown, which had been a bootleg purchase from Marcus Mero's own private collection, had been a cheap knock off of a designer dress. The dye that had been used to color the gown was vegetable based and now thanks to Eva's attempt at cleaning it, the tint was becoming discolored.

Finally the room had grown silent again and it was at this juncture that Hitler decided to address the crowd.

"My dear friends, I cannot possibly thank you enough for your continued support for my cause, correction, I meant to say _our_ cause. For it became our cause from the moment I decided to fight to make our world a better place.

Picture if you will a world free of the contaminant of inferior people that want to pollute our pure Aryan bloodlines and threaten our perfect way of life. We are the dominate race, the master race and it is our duty, our birthright to secure the Aryan legacy for the future generations to come!"

Hitler paused for dramatic effect and was once again rewarded with a round of enthusiastic clapping. His impromptu dissertation had gained the crowd's attention and was seducing them with his impassioned words of hate. As a result, he was very pleased with the reaction he was eliciting from the guests.

When the applause died down, the Fuehrer continued to address his captive audience, "This evening we are gathered not only to honor the Fatherland, but to pay homage to one of its most steadfast, and loyal officers."

Turning to face Braun, Hitler raised his glass even higher as he said, "It is my great honor and privilege to congratulate the Reich's newest and youngest commandant. Not only has he proven to be a dedicated officer in the Nazi Army, he has also shown tremendous valor in the face of great danger. Serving under his former superior, Commandant Schmidt, he has demonstrated his commitment to the Final Solution by carrying out his orders without question. His sense of duty is unparalleled."

As Hitler continued to make his toast, Marcel Dubois turned his focus to his away team. He made eye contact with his second in command. Teresa immediately turned her full attention on her captain. Her heart began to race with anticipation as she waited his signal to attack, but much to her disappointment, with a slight hand gesture, he had commanded to her to stand by.

"What is going on?" whispered Tommy in her ear.

"He's told us to stand by," Teresa whispered back.

"Stand by? Stand by for what?" the young American asked.

Shifting in her seat to face him, Teresa replied, "Marcel knows what he's doing. If he's told us to stand by then it's for a very good reason! Now don't get fidgety, we can't afford any false moves!"

"Fine, but I don't know how much longer I'm supposed to sit here and play with my food! All this stuff is making me hungry!"

"Tommy, none of these dishes are real and you know that. The Matrix could feed you a heaping bowl of dog shit right now and you wouldn't know the difference because it will tell you that it's Cherries Jubilee!"

Grimacing at the prospect of consuming canine feces, Tommy could see Teresa's point. They would just have to sit there and patiently wait for their captain's command.

All three members of the away team kept their eyes riveted on Captain Marcel, paying no attention to the Fuehrer's discourse. As the leader of the Third Reich called for a yet another round of applause to honor his newest officer, Tommy observed Marcel slowly make his way around the table and place a dessert dish in front of each guest.

When the captain finally made it around to him, Tommy began to whisper to Marcel, "What's going …ouch!" stopping short of his question thanks to the sharp stiletto heel of Teresa's shoe stomping on his foot.

As Marcel moved on, Tommy's angry glare fell on Teresa who was sweetly smiling at him.

"What the fuck was that for?" he asked with indignation.

She simply replied, "Insurance."

Moving in closer so he could get a better look at her eyes through her feathery black mask he inquired, "Insurance, for what?"

"Well _mon chère_, if you are too busy nursing your foot then you won't have time to stick it in your mouth. _Ne pas_?" Teresa answered almost seductively as she batted her long eyelashes.

_I could just kill her right now_, Tommy thought angrily, _just wait until we get back to the ship! I'm going to take her over my knee and give her the spanking she deserves!_

Tommy's loins began to stir as images of Teresa's heart shaped bottom came into view in his mind's eye. He would take great pleasure in holding her over his knee and watch her ass wiggle as she tries to break free from his grasp.

Sighing deeply he pushed his salacious thoughts of Teresa aside for now. His fantasies would have to wait until they returned from their mission, but once this war was over, Teresa will be made to see that they are meant to be with one another.

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Once again Marcus Mero had the floor as he rejoined the guest of honor at his table. Turning to his guests with a saucy smile curling his lips he said, "Ladies, gentleman, tonight's desserts are very special. The recipes have been handed down to me from the first generation of Merovingian's to rule over France. It gives me great pride and pleasure to be able to share these delights with you. _Bon appetite_!" Then he made a little gesture with his hands, encouraging his guests to taste the decadently rich treats set directly in front of them.

Teresa watched with utter disgust as everyone around her heartily indulged in the sweet confections served before them. As the people commenced to consume their serving of dessert they did so with unabashed relish and gusto. With widened eyes, Teresa observed as men, women, dignitaries and heads of state alike abandoned all etiquette as they began to lick their spoons and serving dishes clean.

"Oh my God," Marie started to say, and then added, "What is going on? What's wrong with everyone? They are wolfing their food down faster than it is being served to them."

Marie had been right. Some of the guests had already polished off their first portion of chocolate mousse or soufflé and were demanding a second helping.

She then glanced over to the head of the table and caught sight of Marcus Mero. For a brief moment their eyes locked. Being caught in the gaze of such a powerful and dreadful program made Marie shiver with fear, there was something about his eyes that terrified her. It was at that moment that she heard a deep lustful moan emanate from directly across the table.

Darting her eyes quickly to discern the source of the shameless groan, her face turned beet red when she happened upon an elderly couple engaged in a very passionate kiss. The man was seductively groping his female companion in full view of everyone without an obvious care in the world.

Trying to tear her eyes away from the inappropriate ardent sight, Marie found she could not. It was like watching a horrendous train wreck, terrible to behold but inexplicably one is rendered powerless to look away.

As a sense of panic gripped her, Marie heard another moan, then another, and another. Like a growing epidemic, a wave of passion swept through the hall, infecting everyone in its path. Limbs intertwined, lips locked and clothing was being partially removed revealing the flesh of wanton guests. Whatever was affecting them, it was spreading like wildfire, transforming this once dignified affair into a full fledged orgy.

Turning to her equally bewildered daughter, she said, "Teresa, what is happening? I don't understand!"

"It's the dessert, Mother. It has to be! Notice how the help is not affected and neither are we. We are the only ones that have not partaken of any of the food."

When her mother nodded in agreement, Teresa then declared, "That sick twist, Mero has put something in the dessert! It's making everyone act like over sexed teenagers! It's the only explanation!"

"She's right," Tommy chimed in, and then he said, "I read the file on Marcus Mero right before we jacked in. He's known for spiking the food and drinks of his unsuspecting guests. He writes his own dessert programs and it gives him perverse pleasure to see how it will affect his intended victims."

"Cause and effect, yes I'm very familiar with the philosophy he lives by," Teresa said wryly.

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Schmidt in the meanwhile, could not take his probing eyes off of the beautiful woman in black. All evening she had been bewitching him, challenging him with her powerful stare. Her creamy skin appeared to be so smooth and soft, as his eyes visually caressed every curve and contour of her face, shoulders and generous bosom. The temptation to reach out and touch her was growing with every passing moment he gazed upon her dark beauty.

An insatiable craving and longing was starting to take possession of his being, heightening all of his senses. He had felt desire before but not like this, not even for Lydia. This was something else, and whatever it was it was overwhelming and beyond his scope of comprehension. For a split second it almost frightened him.

_What is it about her that calls to me? She stirs my simulated blood like no other,_ Schmidt wondered to himself.

_The air of mystery that surrounds her only intensifies her allure. Whoever she is, she is irresistible. I must have her or die trying_, Commandant Schmidt thought decisively.

A smile of pure wickedness slowly spread across his full sensuous mouth when he found that he had grown hard at the very thought of ravishing her naked quivering flesh. His throbbing erection was threateningly close to causing the fly of his pants to burst at the seams.

He had observed with a smug smile playing on his lips that the boy that was her dinner companion had caught on to the little game he had been playing with his date for the evening. It did not matter though; Schmidt was almost certain the boy wasn't man enough to take on such a ravishing beauty as the one sitting beside him. She was obviously worthy of a more seasoned man, someone with the skill and experience to pleasure her as she so rightly deserved.

As thoughts of his potential conquest consumed his mind, Schmidt had felt Lydia's hot wet lips start to kiss the side of his face. He in turn made no move to return her affection. Like a statue of granite, Schmidt sat silently, as his unnaturally blue eyes stayed riveted on his prey, the woman in the raven mask.

Lydia's mouth had now moved from his face to his neck as her hands roamed across the expanse of his broad chest. Still, he made no attempt to reciprocate her attentions.

A small hiss had escaped him when he felt one of her hands slip into his tuxedo jacket, then past the barrier of his dress shirt. He sighed when he felt one of her long red fingernails rake the tip of his nipple. Lydia's other hand had already found its way into his lap and as she continued to lick and kiss his neck, she had made quick work of undoing the zipper and snaking her hand into his pants. Almost immediately she wrapped her fingers around the long thick shaft then she began to slowly pump her hand up and down his rigid flesh.

While keeping his lust filled gaze on Teresa, he gruffly said to Lydia, "Get under the table, now!" It was more of a command than a request and Lydia happily complied.

Quite surprisingly, Teresa had caught a flicker of movement from her peripheral vision. As if some unseen force had compelled her to do so, she slowly turned her head only to see Commandant Schmidt's fiancée, Lydia slip indiscreetly underneath the table.

_Oh, dear Jesus, she's going to service that bastard under the table,_ her mind rang out, recognizing the act she herself had performed on dozens of clients in her days as a lady of the evening.

She tried to swiftly avert her eyes from Schmidt's direction, but it was too late as he ensnared her in his smoldering blue gaze. Teresa suddenly felt flushed with feverish embarrassment. The Nazi devil kept boring his eyes into hers like sharp twin daggers of desire, piercing the outer walls of her defenses, and in spite her best efforts Teresa found she could not look away.

With her heart pounding in her chest, Teresa felt the nipples of her round breasts harden of their own accord. Alarmingly, for the first time, in a long time sexual arousal began to stir within her, and as much as she hated to admit to herself, she liked how it felt. She tried to press her thighs close together in an attempt to trap the heat that was starting to tease her nether regions, but it only made her womanhood tingle even more.

As she saw Schmidt lick his full bottom lip with his long tongue, Teresa softly moaned as a naughty thought of what that mouth would feel like on her achingly taut nipples protruding from her breasts took hold of her mind. The vision of that fantasy had caused the blood to rise to the surface of her milky white skin, giving it a rosy glow.

Then quite abruptly when she realized that her panties had become moist from her arousal, Teresa tore her eyes away from the lecherous officer in a vain attempt to find Marcel in the sea of trysting guests, but for the moment he was lost to her.

Now that Schmidt was on the threshold of receiving the supreme pleasure that all men desire, he began to imagine that the woman under the table setting his loins ablaze was the mystery lady in the mask, not his whorish fiancée. As he felt the first sensations on Lydia's mouth enveloping his erect phallus with liquid heat, Schmidt bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. As other couples engaged in various acts of sexual perversion all around him, the German officer kept his focus on the service being performed on him and the woman whose mouth he wished he was invading.

A slow sensuous hiss managed to escape from between his clenched teeth as Schmidt felt Lydia's tongue leisurely lick the length of his member, from base to tip. The end of his fiancée's tongue then swirled around the top of the bulbous head of his penis in a circular motion, causing Schmidt to groan deep in his throat. As she repeated the action, the commandant kept his eyes on the true object of his desire, secretly wishing that it was she that was doing this to him, not Lydia.

Teresa had given up her search for Marcel amid the display of squirming flesh surrounding her. The overpowering scents of perspiration and sex filled the air as the orgy was reaching a fever pitch. The intoxicating aroma only fueled her desire, causing her to feel liquid fire course through her veins. Glancing quickly over at Tommy, she was almost relieved when she saw that he had been distracted by the live sex show being played out before him to notice or care that she and Schmidt had been engaged in a sexually charged game of their own.

Daring herself to turn her cerulean eyes towards the commandant, she found that his gaze had not wavered. He was still watching her every move with glazed over eyes, as he continued to receive oral pleasure from the woman concealed under the table.

As Lydia began to apply suction, Schmidt again had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from crying out. However when he felt her soft hand cup then squeeze his scrotum he could not help but say in a guttural tone, "Ah, yes. That's right, my _liebchein,_ suck it! Milk it with your mouth. Take me in deeper, that's it. I said deeper, you bitch!"

Lydia instantaneously obeyed by sliding her mouth down the shaft of Schmidt's penis, swallowing it to the hilt. She had amazed herself for taking in so much his manhood, since she had never been able to before. Lydia had made several attempts in the past to deep throat her lover's member, but only managed to gag each and every time because of the sheer size of it. But tonight was different. Somehow she had felt an inexplicable overwhelming desire to please him, to go past any mental barriers she had set up for herself. Nothing was off limits or forbidden. She felt wild and free, liberated from the shackles of impropriety. She was driven on by the demons of her rampant unnatural desire to suck him off like she had never done before and swallow every drop of the tangy nectar that would soon surge forth into her waiting mouth and gullet.

As Lydia's mouth continued gliding up and down Schmidt's glistening shaft in a steady rhythm, Teresa was transfixed on his face. The expression of pure unadulterated lust, as his blue eyes undressed her was almost too much to bear. He made her feel naked, vulnerable and yet…She soon realized that some part of her, deep down was basking, relishing the fact that this man, this machine wanted her. In that same secret place in her heart, she came to the realization that she wanted him too.

_Oh God, no_, her mind screamed. _He is the enemy, a murdering bastard that would kill me without a second thought if he knew who or what I really am! Besides I love Marcel! How could I love one man and yet want another so intensely? This is wrong; I have to stop looking at him._

That thought alone brought her back to her senses, as the desire she felt was quickly extinguished by the harsh cold reality of her true purpose and mission. She willed herself to look away and focus on finding Marcel

Schmidt was now gripping the edge of the table with one hand while the other had found its way into the tangle of Lydia's blonde tresses. Yanking her hair hard, he had almost pulled it out by the root as her mouth and tongue drove him towards the brink. With his orgasm almost upon him, he was greatly disappointed that it was at that precise moment that his raven turned away. He had desperately wanted her to bear witness to his climax, as his eyes told her he was coming for her, only for her.

But alas, as his penis began to spasm and jerk uncontrollably, he violently erupted into Lydia's mouth. As his fiancée eagerly and greedily lapped up and swallowed every droplet of ejaculate, Schmidt felt that his orgasm had been bittersweet. Although its intensity had not been diminished, it would have been better still if his mysterious raven would have been able to see him in the throes of ecstasy.

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Teresa's eyes were now desperately scanning the room for any signs of Marcel. When she finally caught him in her sights, she sighed with relief. He had been standing directly behind Adolf Hitler's ornate thorn like chair while the Facilitator moved near the gargantuan bay windows that overlook the garden.

_Smart, very smart,_ Teresa told herself. _He's a clever old program, I'll give him that. Moving towards the best escape route is exactly what I would have done. Hit them hard and fast then crash through the windows before the Mainframe has a chance to change the structure of the château. Bloody brilliant. _

Tommy was still looking on at the carnal freak show playing out right before his eyes. He knew that Mero was sick fuck, but he never dreamed the Frenchman could be this depraved.

"Tommy, I've just seen the captain. He's standing right behind the Fuehrer," Teresa whispered in his ear.

Turning his head sharply, he casts his eyes towards the head of the table. Sure enough, there was Marcel still wearing his chef's uniform sans the hat. Hitler, along with Eva Braun had decided to both pass on dessert, and judging from the effect on everyone around them, they had made a wise decision.

Penelope Mero and Commandant Braun had also decided to abstain. The couple stared at those around them humping away with incredulous disbelief.

"_Mon Dieu_, Marcus you have gone too far this time!" Penelope exclaimed.

"Mind your tongue, woman! This is my house and I will do as I please!" Mero warned.

Exasperated, Madame Mero turned away from idiotic husband before she said something that she'd regret. It was at that moment that her dark eyes caught a glimpse of the Negro servant that standing behind Hitler's chair. Her mind quickly tired to recall if she had seen this man before because she did not recognize him.

When her memory banks failed to pull up anything that alluded to previous contact with the stranger before her eyes, an alarm went off in her head. A sense of panic flooded her system, Penelope quickly turned to her new lover and whispered, "My love, look at the man standing behind Adolf. I don't think I've ever seen him before. In fact I'm sure of it. He is not a member of the household staff!"

Braun slowly turned to look at the man Penelope had just mentioned. "Oh my God, it's Marcel Dubois," he said out loud without really meaning to. When he saw the terror stricken expression on his beloved's face, he quickly regretted his verbal transgression, but it was now too late retract it. His sky blue eyes were opened wide with shock and utter disbelief as he beheld the sight of the Reich's greatest and most wanted enemy now just standing a hairbreadth's away from the Fuehrer himself.

Grasping Penelope's shoulders, Commandant Leopold Braun tore his eyes away from his foe look at her. "My love," he urged, "I want you to leave this room. It is not safe. That man is a terrorist and there is no telling what he might do. I could not bear the thought of you getting hurt."

Defiantly Madame Mero straightened out her posture and stood at her full height. "This is still my house Leopold, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let that rebel bastard try to bring his war against the system here and let him get away with it!"

Braun started to protest, but Penelope quickly silenced him with a kiss. The act itself was brazen, and in full view of everyone including her foppish husband, but the moment their lips touched and arms wrapped themselves around each other, Braun didn't give a good goddamn who bore witness to their public display of affection.

It was Penelope that withdrew from their embrace first. Looking up at Leopold she said, "You forget that I am a very old program, infused with all of the political savvy of even the most Machiavellian statesman and the deadly seductiveness of every great queen and empress that has graced the pages of history. The collective legacies of Cleopatra, Elizabeth I, and even Catherine the Great runs through my circuitry. Besides, my dear commandant, I haven't survived all of these years without the ability to fight. If I can hold my own against the likes of Marcus and the idiots he surrounds himself with, then I can surely handle a few insignificant rebels."

At that particular moment Braun thought that he couldn't possibly love her more. Her steely resolve, and regal deportment were admirable and he couldn't think of anyone else he would rather have at his side during the impending conflict.

"Very well then, but you stay close to me. Now if I could just get Schmidt's attention…"

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Teresa was quite literally sitting at the edge of her seat, waiting for an indication, a gesture, any hint from her captain that would allow her to unleash hell upon the enemies of Zion. Tonight it would all end. She would take Hitler's life and if she was lucky enough to survive, Teresa Picard would bear witness to the demise of the Third Reich.

_That's if Tommy doesn't screw it up_, she told herself.

Tommy, the great white hope, the alleged savior of humanity was nothing more than a lovesick boy with a lot to learn in Teresa's cynical view.

Marcel however had placed all of his faith in this would-be messiah and it was for the captain's sake that Teresa agreed to this three ring circus of mission in the first place. Marcel had never steered her wrong before, in fact she trusted him implicitly. Ever since her arrival in the Real World, Teresa followed every command, performed every task asked of her without question. Her commitment to him and his cause ran that deep. So deep in fact that she would be willing to walk through the scorching bowels of Hades for him, even die for him if necessary.

_Then why doesn't this feel right? There's something wrong I can sense it all around me, _she deduced as nagging little thoughts tugged at her psyche.

With her stomach all twisted up in knots, she tried her best to push the disturbing thoughts out of her head. It was too late for self-recriminations, no room for any doubts. Marcel was counting on her as well, her skills as a true warrior would be put to the test.

_I've got to have my wits about me. No distractions tonight, not even for a second or will cost me my life_. There was one diversion, however, that she could not ignore no matter how much she tried, and went by the name of Commandant Schmidt. His riveting blue eyes had bore a hole into her very soul. His commanding presence exuded raw masculinity, his arrogance infuriated her and yet she wanted him with every fiber of her being…

Once more she tried to stay focused and this time her vigilance paid off. The moment her cerulean eyes locked onto Marcel's intense gaze, she knew this was it; the moment of Zion's retribution was finally at hand. Discreetly she reached into the long bottom half of her dress then her long slender fingers wrapped themselves around the hilt of her katana. Still seated Teresa took advantage of the cover of the table cloth to make some last minute alterations. Slowly, she unsheathed the Japanese sword then ran the blade across the material of her gown, shorting the hem garment to a scandalous length. Then she kicked off her shoes in preparedness of the ensuing battle.

Then all at once it happened. First was Captain Marcel's thunderous cry to battle, "Now! Do it now!"

With blinding speed Teresa watched as Tommy and her mother sprung into action. Tommy engaged in a series of hand to hand clashes with several of Marcus Mero's henchmen and bodyguards as Marie provided cover with a steady stream of bullets from dual pistols she held tightly in each hand.

Marcel in the meanwhile had managed to wrap a powerful arm around the Fuehrer's throat as he held the barrel of a semiautomatic at his temple.

"Call your dogs off," Marcel growled menacingly. Then he said threateningly, "I _will_ kill you if you don't do what I say!"

Adolf Hitler simply scoffed, "I'm dead anyway, no matter what I do! So I say 'no' to your proposal. I may die but my Reich will live on long after I've given my life for it! Of that you can be certain, you black bastard!"

Pulling back the hammer of his weapon, and a finger wrapped around the trigger Marcel said solemnly, "So be it then, but know this: your precious Reich dies with you, Hitler!"

Hitler stared up defiantly at his would-be executioner, his eyes two hard flint stones full of contempt and loathing. Even at the moment of his death, the Fuehrer's racist repugnance would not be diminished.

Just as Marcel Dubois was going to put a quick end to Hitler with a bullet from his gun, he suddenly felt the cold metallic sensation of someone else's weapon digging viciously into the back of his head.

"Marcel Dubois," said a cold mechanical sounding voice.

The captain of the Morpheus immediately recognized its owner, and addressed him in kind, "Commandant Schmidt, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Refusing to give up, Marcel continued to hold his own weapon against the temple of his quarry.

"Save me the platitudes, Herr Dubois! Now drop your weapon and step away the Fuehrer!" barked the German officer.

Calmly Marcel countered, "I have a better idea." Still keeping a tight grip around Hitler's throat, Captain Dubois savagely wrenched the dictator out of his chair. Then in a flash of movement, he pivoted around to face his enemy. With a heavy grunt Marcel brought a distraught Hitler with him to stand as barrier between himself and Schmidt.

Pushing the barrel of is gun even harder against the thin layer of digital skin Marcel now made a few demands of his own, "Drop _your _gun or your leader dies."

**End Chapter 19**


	20. The Long Goodbye

The Wages of War 

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix, the Matrix owns me.

A/N: The away team is in the thick of it as they battle to death against their enemies. Captain Marcel is involved in a standoff with Commandant Schmidt. Teresa, in the meanwhile will find that defending the One will a much tougher job then she had originally thought. And finally Tommy will have to harness all of his powers as the One if he is going to save the day and end the war. Will he be able to pull it off? Read on to find out…

**Chapter Twenty**

**The Long Goodbye**

Teresa had been entangled in a few scuffles of her own before she noticed the predicament that her captain was in. It was only after she had decimated half dozen henchmen with the blade of her sword, that she saw the stalemate that Marcel was currently embroiled in. When the fight had broken out, Teresa had immediately leapt on top of the table barefoot, with sword in hand hacking down all who dared oppose her with deadly precision.

"Tommy, I think the captain is in trouble!" she yelled out as ducked out of the way an arching blade of a sickle. As she came back up, Teresa swung the sharp blade of her own weapon one-handed from end to end managing to decapitate another henchman. As his head came off his body, a crimson spray of blood saturated the screaming crowd and stained the once pristinely white tablecloths that were spread out on the tables.

"Uh, I'm a little busy right now!" Tommy yelled back as he found himself surrounded by at least twenty or so armed Nazis. Stretching his arms out, he raised the palms of his hands outward as Tommy waited for the soldiers to fire their weapons. In unison all of the men discharged their hand pistols in Tommy's direction. Closing his eyes, he began to rapidly whirl around, halting every single bullet's trajectory in mid-air before they all fell to the marble floor with a hollow sounding ping.

With one savage motion he grabbed the arm of one of the Nazis and then swung him around like a human wrecking ball, mowing down the remaining officers, leaving none standing. Tommy then cast off the hapless man he held in his grasp into the rows of tables with a force so powerful the very fabric of the Matrix rippled with shockwaves.

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"Well Herr Dubois, I believe we find ourselves at some sort of impasse," Commandant Schmidt drawled, the hate in his cobalt blue eyes betrayed the calm in his voice. He continued to aim his Luger 9mm straight at Marcel.

With an extremely frazzled Fuehrer still tightly clutched in the crook off his arm, Marcel smiled as he coldly regarded his opponent. He too has his own gun jutted up against Hitler's temple, waiting for the commandant to give him cause to pull the trigger.

"Schmidt I order you to shoot! Kill the human!" Hitler screeched hysterically.

"Yes, Schmidt, go ahead and shoot me. Your Fuehrer will be dead before I hit the floor!" Marcel declared triumphantly as he pushed the barrel of his handgun harder against the Fuehrer's temple.

Machine like eyes quickly scanned the perimeter as Schmidt assessed the best possible angle to hit his target without harming Hitler. When his objective was acquired, a slow malicious grin formed on his lips as his index finger wrapped around the trigger. Without a moment's hesitation, Commandant Schmidt fired at will.

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"Oh my God, no!" Marie and her daughter had cried out simultaneously. Marie Dubious' terror-stricken eyes welled up with unshed tears as she helplessly watched the bullet from Commandant Schmidt's gun pierce the tender flesh of her husband's right shoulder. The impact of the bullet caused Marcel to release his hostage and his weapon as his body was propelled backward. He landed on the hard, cold green marble floor with a heavy thud.

Taking full advantage of his new found freedom, Hitler scurried away like a rat leaving a sinking ship. Schmidt meanwhile, ominously towered over the fallen captain ready to end his life.

Teresa's heart was breaking as she watched the horrific scene play out in front her. She tired to cut a path to her captain, but the opposition proved to be too great. No matter how many men she killed, more seemed to spring up to replace them. Teresa would never get to Marcel in time. There was only one hope, only way to save Marcel and it rested in the hands of Tommy Ackerman.

"Ackerman!" she yelled, "The captain needs your help! Go to him, now!"

Wordlessly Tommy obeyed. With his fists outstretched in front of him, Tommy took to the air, flying with the speed of a guided torpedo towards his intended target, Commandant Schmidt.

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The sharp whistling sound coming in his direction caused Schmidt to raise his head so that he could discern its source. However by the time he saw the black blur soaring towards him, it was already too late.

Fists of iron made a direct hit on Schmidt's chest and abdomen, concaving the lines of code that comprised the digital flesh. Before he could react to the assault, the commandant felt himself being lifted into the air effortlessly by whomever or whatever had impacted his solid body. Then with brutal agonizing force Schmidt was slammed into the wide mirrored wall on the opposite side of dining hall. From the instant his body collided with wall, shards of glass went flying throughout the room, sending sharp deadly projectiles towards what remained of the guests.

Most of the invited guests had already vacated the Château Merovingian, running for their very lives the moment all hell broke loose. However, those people still trapped in the war zone paid dearly for their presence. Most were caught in the crossfire of bullets, still others were killed instantly, their lives extinguished by the flying fragments of the mirrored wall. Pieces of glass had embedded themselves deeply in the flesh of its helpless victims.

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Although momentarily stunned, Commandant Schmidt quickly recovered and for the first time his cold gaze fell upon the face of the man that had dared to attack him.

"You!" Schmidt said with a bit of surprise in his voice. He immediately recognized the boy in the dark mask and the cheap looking tuxedo. He was the raven's dinner companion

_But wait! If he is a rebel then that would mean that she is one as well._

_Damn! _

Disappointment only fueled his anger. Just when he thought he had found a woman that was worthy of his greatness she turns out to be his enemy.

_No matter, after I've disposed of this piss-ant, I will take great pleasure in fucking his rebel whore senseless then snapping her lovely neck in two_.

With hate burning in his eyes, Schmidt turned his attention back on the rebel that still had a hold on him. "And you are?" he asked in between clenched teeth.

"Ackerman, Tommy Ackerman at your service, you fucking '_kraut_!"

"Judging from your accent, you must be an American. Well don't worry my Yankee friend. The Reich will tend to your country soon enough right after we eviscerate Zion!"

"Not if I can help it, you piece of software!" Tommy retorted.

The insolence from this young American upstart only served to enrage the German officer. The boy needed to be taught the meaning of respect for his superiors.

_It will be a lesson he won't soon forget_, Schmidt thought to himself as a sinister smile played on his full lips.

With a mighty grunt, he buried a rock-solid fist into the lower part of Tommy's stomach sending the boy reeling to the other side of room.

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Marie Dubois wasted no time in reaching her fallen husband. As both her daughter and Tommy waged war against the Reich, she had pressed on, undeterred by the gun play and dead bodies strewn about. Her only goal had been to get to Marcel at any cost and she had killed anyone that had gotten in her way.

Now she found herself at his side, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. "Marcel, my love, I'm here."

"Marie, you must leave. Find an exit as soon as you can," he said feebly.

Fear gripped her heart as she desperately clutched one of his hands. It was as cold as ice. "No, Marcel! I'm not going anywhere, not without you! We'll find a way out of the Matrix, together."

A weak smile formed on Marcel's lips as his fading vision regarded his wife. So beautiful, so courageous, at this moment he couldn't have possibly loved her more.

"Marie, I've lost a lot of blood, I don't think I'll be able to make it. Find the Facilitator and get out while you still can!"

His wife however refused to give up; there would be no way in hell she was going to leave the love of her life behind. There just had to be a way to save him, there just had to. Relying on her first-aid training, she pressed the palms of both of hands on his wound to stop the flow of blood.

Then suddenly the sound of a man's voice caused Marie's head to whip around.

"Madame, may I be of some assistance? Allow me to help. I'm a physician," declared the man with slicked back black hair and beady dark eyes.

Instinctively, she grabbed her guns with bloodstained hands and aimed them at the interloper that disturbed her efforts to aid her husband.

"Get away from us, we don't want or need your help!" Marie said viciously.

"Please, Madame. Let me offer my services to you. Your companion will surely die without them," said the stranger, almost beseechingly.

"Your 'services'?" Marie scoffed haughtily, "I know all about your so-called services, you fucking butcher! I know who you are Dr. Menegle, or should I call you the Angel of Death?"

A frigid smile from Menegle revealed a row of tiny serrated teeth. The sight of them sent a shiver of dread down Marie's spine. His hard clinical gaze viewed the female rebel in same manner he would a new strain of bacteria under a microscope.

"_Touché_, Madame Dubois," the doctor countered. When he saw the look of utter surprise on her face, Mengele said with an air of arrogance, "Yes, my dear. I know who _you_ are too. The Reich makes it our business to know all about your pitiful little Resistance!"

Keeping her guns trained on Dr. Menegle, Marie observed that he quickly waved over two SS officers that had been standing nearby amid all of the chaos erupting around them. In a protective gesture she stood up, placing herself between Marcel and the Nazis like a human shield.

An evil sneer distorted his usually stoic features as Dr. Menegle gave the two officers their orders, "Take them! You are to place these degenerates on the next cattle car bound for Dracau with the rest of the chattel."

The will to survive governed Marie's next actions. Within milliseconds she opened fire on her two would be captors. Tears of rage streamed down her face when she soon realized that her efforts were futile. With the speed and agility that was inherent in all machines, both SS officers dodged every single round shot at them. Although the bullets she discharged hit nothing but air, Marie Dubois continued to shoot until the chambers from both of her guns were spent.

She kept clicking away at the triggers, but Marie's enemies were already upon her, wrestling her to the ground as they savagely relieved her of her weapons. Gloating in his triumph over the human and her vain attempt to avoid capture, Dr. Menegle waited until she was forced to stand upright by the two soldiers flanking her.

Walking right up to Marie so that his face was only centimeters away from hers, Menegle seethed with contained rage, "I will take great pleasure in breaking that proud spirit of yours, Madame Dubois. You will be my greatest experiment, of that I can assure you!" Marie fought the urge to vomit when she felt his hot metallic breath scorch her face. He reeked of death.

Marie's blue-green eyes spoke volumes, as the revulsion she felt was reflected in them. She smiled sardonically at the program that had tortured and killed thousands in the name of science for his own perverse experiments.

With all the hate she could muster, she said, "Fuck you."

Angered by her insult, the doctor wasted no time in showing her who was in control. Savagely, Menegle gave her face a resounding smack with the back of his left hand leaving a red welt on her cheek. Although Marie could feel the blood start to pool into her mouth she refused to let her gaze waiver.

"Fuck – you!" she said again, placing emphasis on every syllable then punctuating her statement by spitting out the overflow of blood and saliva onto Dr. Menegle's face, soiling him.

As he retrieved a handkerchief from his tuxedo jacket pocket, Menegle roared at the officers, "Take them away! And if the Negroid's whore resists, shoot her!"

As Marie and Marcel were being dragged off, her cries of protest fell on deaf ears.

lllll

Tommy had crash-landed into one of the corkscrew pillars of solid granite that had been securely attached to the arching entrance of the dining hall. The column had crumbled into a pile of dust and sedimentary rubble from the moment Tommy's body had collided into it. Miraculously, he appeared unharmed as the avatar for humanity gingerly stood upright to confront the incoming ferocity of Commandant Schmidt.

However, Schmidt just stood on the opposite side of the room, he was epitome of composure. Stoic, serene and deadly, he stood with lethal stillness of a king cobra contemplating his next strike.

_The boy has talent, I'll give him that, _the Nazi officer concluded.

His thoughts articulated what he could not verbalize as he continued to assess this new adversary.

_And maybe if it weren't for the vacuous space between his ears, I might even say that he's a cunning warrior. No, cunning he is not, for he lacks the patience and fortitude of a true master of the game of war._

Then suddenly a slow sly smile of malevolence spread across his mouth when Schmidt's olfactory sensors picked up the repugnant yet all too familiar scent that all humans that have had the misfortune to cross his path possess. It was the stinking, putrid stench of fear, and this boy reeked of it. The odor was so strong, so overpowering, that Schmidt could not help but be down right sickened by it. And yet, ironically, the repulsive tang heralded his victory over this human. For if Herr Ackerman feared him, then Schmidt could surely defeat him.

Tommy, on the other was growing more and more impatient. He had to prove to Schmidt that he was no mere rebel. The demonstration of his true powers had yet to happen, and once they manifest themselves, Schmidt will be made to succumb under the powers of the One.

"C'mon, you sick twist! What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? Well all you'll get is this!" Tommy snarled as he closed his left hand into a fist. Raising his arm out in front him, the young American turned his fist upward then flicked out his long middle finger in a gesture of vulgar defiance.

Schmidt only found the gesticulation slightly annoying at best and sighed with the exasperation of a parent weary of its offspring's rebellious antics.

"Herr Ackerman, you greatly disappoint me. Here I thought you a worthy opponent. But all the while I've been only dealing with another of Marcel Dubois' brainless flunkies! You are no more sport to me than the other rabble you associate with! Your juvenile theatrics just established that you are no match for me! Now go back to the sandbox with the rest of the _kinder _before you get hurt little boy!"

Just as expected, the commandant's harsh words had the desired affect on Tommy. The slurs had been an affront to his very manhood and his already unstable sense of self-worth. The very nature of the insults ignited a slow burning hatred that threatened to consume him. Tommy could feel his anger start to build as the Nazi bastard just stood there mocking him with his words, and taunting him with those twin pinpoints of cobalt that peered out at him from behind the black mask.

Not able to withstand another moment of this stand off, Tommy broke the uncomfortable silence with a decisive declaration, "I'm the One, damn it! The fucking One! You should be shitting in your pants right now you arrogant mechanical prick! I'm here to lay waste to your life sucking Matrix once and for all!"

The boy's ridiculous self-proclamation caused Schmidt to throw his head back with laughter that was devoid of humor and mirth. It was a hollow, empty sound, soulless and lifeless as the artificial man that it had emanated from.

"So the old soothsayer is still telling her fairytales of the prophesied savior of humanity? And she told _you_, a gangly underfed weakling, that you are this messiah? How very typical of her, always preying on you weak-minded humans. Using superstition and a tired old legend to get you to do what she doesn't have the guts to do for herself!"

"Enough!" Tommy spat out, then with all the hate he could conjure then said, "Don't you ever shut the fuck up? Let's just get this over with!"

With that having been said, Tommy struck a fighting pose that Schmidt instantaneously recognized as Kung Fu. The Nazi officer much preferred the Japanese martial art of jujitsu because of its grace and deadly accuracy. Kung Fu was for the low class street fighters of Shanghai, but if it's a street fight he wants then it's a street fight he shall have.

lllll

"Nova, here, catch this!" the Facilitator had yelled out at the ferocious woman warrior, calling her by her rebel alias. With the tempestuous force of a hurricane, Teresa Picard had nearly decimated everyone that had stood up against her, bestowing the kiss of death with the razor sharp edge of her gleaming sword.

Now she found herself backed into a corner as she stared down the dozen or so SS officers that were about to bear down on her. Luckily for her, they were human and could be easily dealt with, providing of course, that no sentient programs would decide to jump into a new host at this juncture. Closing her eyes, Teresa quickly shot her arm straight up managing to catch the second sword the Facilitator had thrown at her in mid-air by its handle.

With no further delay, Nova transformed herself into a one-woman killing machine as her dual blades savagely decapitated, stabbed or disemboweled every man that had tried to bring her down. As a result of her rampage, she was covered in the crimson lifeblood that had once flowed in her enemies' veins. Teresa was unmoved by it all, this thing called death. Like an avenging angel, she was a terrible sight to behold, beautiful yet deadly, but she remained oblivious to the stares from the terrified survivors. Nova had a mission to carry out and she just didn't give a good goddamn what she looked like.

There was no time for regrets or self-recriminations. She neither cared about the lives she had taken this night or the ones that still remained unclaimed by her sword. She must provide cover for the One at any cost.

The Facilitator soon joined her at her side, as Teresa surveyed the carnage she had wrought.

"Jesus, woman, remind me never to get on your bad side!" he exclaimed, astonished at the body-count that surrounded them.

"Never mind that now! Where is the captain? Has the Furerher been eliminated?" Teresa asked anxiously.

Quickly the program diverted his eyes away from hers. He couldn't face her, but Teresa, sensing his apprehension pressed for an answer.

"Something's happened, hasn't it?"

His failure to respond only infuriated her. Dropping her swords, Teresa roughly grabbed the front of the Facilitator's shirt and slammed him up against the nearest wall. In spite of the fact that the male program towered over her, the diminutive woman's rage filled her lithe body with the unnatural strength, it was almost freakish.

The Facilitator had observed Nova all evening, as she fought like a woman possessed. As with all the members of the Resistance, he had first hand knowledge of her skill and prowess on the battlefield, however, tonight's performance went beyond her usual talents. Aside from her victims' blood on her person, she seemed to be perfectly unharmed. There wasn't a scratch on her, not a cut or a scrape, there was nothing at all. Her vigor and stamina remained undiminished, as if she had an endless power supply. The Facilitator only knew of one species in this world that possessed that potency, and they certainly weren't human.

"You've got about five seconds to tell me what is going on, or I'll rip you apart, circuit by circuit with my bare hands, got it?" she said scathingly. Then she pushed his back further into the wall sending a jolt of pain up his spinal column.

"Teresa, please, your hurting me," the frightened programmed pleaded. But Nova would not listen to reason, not until he told her all he knew. Finally when his pain sensors had reached their maximum capacity, the Facilitator relented.

"All right, all right I'll tell you. Marcel was shot, I don't know how badly injured he is. What I do know is that he and your mother were captured, and then they were dragged off by the Gestapo."

"And you did nothing to help them, isn't that true, you spineless piece of shit!" she shouted into his face.

"No, no that's not what happened! I did try to help but I was outnumbered. It was all I could do to get out of my own tight spot with my life. You must believe me, Marcel is my dearest and oldest friend, human or otherwise. I love him like a brother and would give my own life to save his if I could. You know that I hate the Nazi's just as much as you do! I have a daughter at Dracau. Her name is Elsa, Elsa Schwartz. Check your ship's records! You'll see I'm telling the truth."

Going through the _Morpheus'_ databanks was not necessary, for Teresa knew all too well that the program was telling the truth. The fact that his only child had been taken by the Gestapo, had been the deciding factor in the Facilitator joining the Resistance.

Slowly her grip on him lessened as her mind tried to focus. There just had to be a way out of their dire situation. The mission had indeed been compromised, Hitler still lived and the captain had been wounded then apprehended along with her mother. Teresa couldn't bear the thought of Marcel bleeding to death in a dank dark cell. She had to formulate a plan to save her parents, but first thing was first: Teresa had to find an escape and exit the Matrix. But she couldn't do it alone; she needed an army, a prayer or better yet a miracle.

And who better to bring about a phenomenal rescue? It would be none other than Zion's very own modern-day messiah, Tommy Ackerman.

Releasing the Facilitator from her iron grip, she turned away from him as his body slid down the wall to the floor to form a pathetic puddle of skin and bones.

After picking up her discarded sword, her cerulean eyes darted about the room furiously until they honed in and locked onto Tommy's current position.

llllll

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die, Herr Ackerman!" Commandant Schmidt seethed with loathing. Reaching up, he tore the mask off his face so that he could get a better look at his intended target.

Tommy did the same, tossing his own mask off to the side as he smirked at his opponent. Then with a wave of his hand, he goaded Schmidt to advance on him. With a ferocious animalistic growl, Schmidt began to run towards Tommy, as the boy readied himself to give as good as he got.

Almost immediately, the two foes pummeled one another with bone-crunching punches, as Teresa and the Facilitator watched helplessly from the sidelines. At first, Tommy had landed a few powerful kicks and punches, sending the dreaded Nazi officer hurtling to the other end of the dining hall. But as expected, Schmidt soon rebounded, and commenced to press forward once more with renewed vehemence.

Hissing like a poisonous viper, Schmidt said, "You think you've got what it takes, boy? Do you have any idea who you are dealing with? I guess I'll have to teach some manners!"

Tommy, in an attempt to quiet his opponent with a punch in the mouth, swung his fist at him, but Schmidt due to his superior speed easily avoided the blow. Then, much to Tommy's astonishment, he avoided the next one after that, and the next one after that. With his brow moist with sweat, Tommy kept punching out blindly, hitting nothing but air as Schmidt bobbed and weaved with agility and swiftness of gazelle.

Schmidt smiled at Tommy's failure to strike him and knew that soon enough the human would tire, as his muscles gave way to pain and exhaustion. Schmidt meanwhile, remained as fresh as a daisy, seemingly unruffled by their encounter. When Tommy thrust his fist out once more, the Nazi commandant caught it in the palm of his large hand with a resounding smack. Closing his long powerful fingers around Tommy's fist, Schmidt began to crush it with a vise-like grip. Schmidt kept applying excruciating pressure, forcing a very surprised and humiliated Tommy to drop to his knees. With terror-stricken eyes, the boy looked up at his enemy only to see him smile with salacious glee.

Lowering his face to until it was just inches from Tommy's, Schmidt announced, "Now it's my turn!"

With Tommy's fist still firmly within his grasp, Schmidt callously yanked him up to his feet, and then flung the hapless boy into a wall. Wasting no time, the Nazi savagely pounced on Tommy, and then rapidly delivered a succession of powerful body blows to his chest and abdomen. Tommy's body just swayed and quivered under the mighty, unrelenting force of Schmidt's fists.

As her widened eyes took in the spectacle displayed before her, it was soon made very apparent to Teresa that Tommy was extremely ill equipped to face off with such a formidable program as Schmidt.

_Ackerman is a mere amateur compared to him. Schmidt's style, speed and skill are far superior to that of any man or AI I've ever encountered, on or off the battlefield. Tommy is no match for Schmidt and he will soon be dominated by him and ultimately defeated!_

Suddenly, like a shot to the brain, a dreadful thought violently raced through her mind:

_Marcel is wrong, Tommy is not the One! Oh, dear God, he's not the One!_

Blood started to gush out Tommy's mouth, the direct the result of one of his broken ribs piercing his lung. As he struggled for every breath, he noticed that his vision was seriously impaired. Try as he might, he could not regain his focus as Schmidt continued his brutal assault.

_Why is the happening_, Tommy wondered desperately. Marcel had told him that he could easily defeat any foe within the confines of the Matrix and yet…there he was being beaten to a pulp by a computer program. It just didn't make sense; Tommy should be wiping the floor with this guy, not have it be the other way around. Now the pain he was experiencing went beyond anything he could ever have imagined and it was slowly sapping the very life right out of him.

What happened to all of the assurances from Captain Marcel that Tommy would be faster, stronger and be virtually unstoppable? Had the captain lied, or worse yet, was his faith in the prophecy so unwavering, so complete that he was willing to overlook Tommy's shortcomings to make the divination come true?

And what of Ophelia, the all knowing, and all seeing Seer, had she also mislead Tommy into believing that he was something that he now clearly knows he is not? Why would she lie to him? Maybe Schmidt was right, she only used Tommy like a patsy to carry out her own vendetta against the machines. Concocting some bullshit prophecy about a savior to delude a humanity that was hungry to believe that there was something more beyond their abysmal reality.

All of these months of exhaustive training, all of the platitudes and lofty ideals pumped into him by an overly fanatical zealot were all for nothing. Just to end up a sacrificial lamb that had been lead straight to the slaughter.

As Schmidt prolonged the unmerciful pummeling of his broken body, Tommy came to the realization that he was dying, he was sure of it.

llllll

"Jesus, he's killing him!" Teresa exclaimed. She tried to move forward to assist her fallen comrade, but was stopped by the Facilitator's steady hand on her shoulder.

"No, Nova! There's no saving him. He's done for and you know it! We need to get out here and regroup." the program stated quietly.

"But what about the prophecy, didn't Marcel believe him to be the One?" she asked fretfully, but she knew it was of no use. There was no denying it; Tommy was being murdered right before her very eyes. And if he died, Marcel's dream of a Zion free from the threat of a totalitarian regime would die with him.

"Nova, we have to go, now or there'll be no one left to save both our worlds," pleaded the scrawny exile.

Before Teresa turned to leave she cast one final look at Tommy over her shoulder. The ghoulish sight that burned in her eyes both horrified and angered her. The once handsome boy had become a shadow of his former self. His facial features were greatly distorted due to the bruising and swelling of his skin. Both of his eyes had been welded shut, his once beautiful mouth was now cut and bloodied. And from her vantage point Teresa could see that Tommy's narrow nose was broken in two places.

Then she witnessed Commandant Schmidt deliver his final _coupe de grace_. Roughly, the Nazi peeled Tommy from the wall then held his almost lifeless body securely against his. Schmidt then gruffly turned Tommy around so that the boy's back was against Schmidt's torso.

What Teresa saw next only took a few seconds, but to her it would be a memory that would be etched in her mind for all eternity. She had watched as the commandant cruelly placed his hands on either side of Tommy's head then as unceremoniously as one would wring the neck of a cat, he deftly twisted Tommy's head until she heard the bones of his neck crack.

Disbelief and shock quickly gave way to anger and an overwhelming need for retribution. Tommy was now dead, but for Teresa there would be no time to grief or shed tears of lament. There was only thing left to do: move her ass as fast as she could or share in poor Tommy's fate.

lllll

After he had tossed the dead rebel's body aside with as much regard as the day's refuse, Commandant Schmidt turned his attention to more pressing matters, primarily the location of the raven.

His eyes quickly swept through the room, intently searching every nook and cranny until he found his objective. It didn't take long to find her, almost smiling to himself when he saw the milky white skin of her retreating back. He also noticed that she was not alone. The raven, to his mild surprise, was trying to make her escape with a program.

_He's probably a treasonous exile. No matter, he is of no consequence and will be dealt with in due time.  
_

Immediately, Schmidt removed his firearm out of his holster and aimed it straight at female insurgent.

"Halt or I'll shoot," he called out loudly.

The woman and her companion however kept moving towards the gargantuan bay windows.

Pulling back on the hammer of his gun, Schmidt yelled out again, "I commanded you to halt, woman. Do it now or you will leave me no choice but to shoot you in the back!"

By this time Captain Johansen and Commandant Braun had joined him. Both officers, fresh from their respective and multiple kills, now flanked their superior with weapons drawn.

Teresa cast a sideways glance at her fellow rebel and said, "Keep going! I'll hold these bastards off."

The Facilitator looked at Teresa as if she had lost her mind, "Are you crazy, woman? Those are Nazis and not just any Nazis; they are SS for God's sake! You don't stand a chance against them!"

With a wry little smile she countered with, "You let me be the judge of that! Now go!"

Giving Teresa a curt little nod, the Facilitator kept moving towards the windows.

With a heavy sigh, Teresa Picard turned around slowly to face the very Nazi officers that had graced the foyer of her father's house eight years earlier. She was nothing more than a frightened young girl back then, but now she faced them as a hardened, seasoned warrior. Tightening her grip on the handle of her katana, Teresa waited for the inevitable.

"Drop your weapon, or we will shoot!" Schmidt drawled out.

With the regal defiance of a queen, Teresa gave her answer, "No."

"I will only say this one more time, Fraulein: drop your weapon!"

Calmly, she peeled the mask off her face revealing herself to Schmidt for the first time. His eyes widened in recognition and surprise.

Unflinchingly, Teresa stood her ground and again gave her response to Schmidt's command, "No!"

Schmidt could not help but look somewhat admiringly at the girl that dared to defy him. Compared to the boy he had just killed, she did not fear him in the least, he could sense it and to some degree it pleased him.

_Just look at you standing there, unafraid, and ready to go down fighting until the very last. I would give anything to have even one of my officers display the same resolute courage. _

_I saw you fight tonight, and was astounded by your technique. You were poetry in motion, graceful, elegant and lethal. Every move flawlessly executed, it was like ballet. _

_You reveled in every kill you made, don't deny it. Inside you beats the heart of a true killer. I should know, because an assassin always recognizes one of its own. _

_Pity that I will never know the sublime pleasure of your body, nor experience the thrill of battling against you. It would have been wonderful. Well, at least for me anyway._

Schmidt knew what he had to do and in spite his own personal feelings, the girl had to be eliminated. Duty and loyalty to the Reich were first and foremost and nothing would deter him from his purpose.

"Very well, Fraulein, you leave me no choice!" Schmidt said trying to sound blasé about the whole affair.

Coldly he addressed his fellow officers, "Gentlemen, shoot to kill!"

Johansen and Braun's compliance was immediate as they opened fire on Teresa. Schmidt also began to discharge his weapon, watching with mixed feelings as the bullets zipped through air towards their intended target.

Teresa remained where she stood; her face displayed no emotion, no fear. It was to Schmidt, as if she were almost welcoming the incoming ammunition, facing her the hour of her death head-on with the dignity and honor of a true warrior. Somewhere deep inside the complex circuitry of his programming, Commandant Schmidt's admiration and respect for the doomed woman deepened with each passing second.

As the bullets came in closer and closer, Teresa continued to wait for the moment when they would penetrate her body and put an end to her life.

However, to her utter amazement, Teresa unexpectedly experienced an incredible surge of energy germinating from within her mind; it then radiated outward, sending jolts of static electricity throughout her entire being. At first, the feeling was familiar, and very similar to the sensation an unplugged human would experience when the ship's operator downloads files into their cerebral cortex.

This however was something else entirely. It was powerful and so potent that it was almost beyond her control. Frightened, Teresa sensed that this newfound force had a life of its own. The lids of her eyes had closed involuntarily and now fluttered uncontrollably as she continued to receive the foreign and unfamiliar data.

When the last bit of information had been inserted into her psyche, the sound of Tommy's voice immediately spoke to her again, as if somehow he were communicating with her from the Great Beyond:

_Teresa, you must listen me. I know now what my true purpose is. I must help you, and you must let me. _

Her eyes instantaneously snapped open, as the Nazis that had fired upon her were shocked by what they saw.

Gone were the blue-green irises that could stop any man stop in his tracks. Staring back at Schmidt and his associates were now two eerie black orbs, completely devoid of life. There remained no trace of the fire and spirit that Commandant Schmidt had quickly grown accustomed to. In her eyes was reflected the bowels of Hell itself, and for the first time in his long life, Schmidt felt trepidation.

Teresa's mind blocked out everything else, focusing solely on the sound of Tommy's voice as he guided her next course of action:

_You can stop the bullets, raise your hand. Go on, try! You know you can!_

Teresa quickly obeyed. Not questioning anything, she simply did as she was told.

The woman that had always doubted the existence of the impossible, believing in nothing but the love she secretly harbored for her captain, was quite suddenly and very much against her own will catapulted into the realm of faith.

Again Tommy's voice whispered to her:

_Believe in yourself, Teresa. You have to take a leap of faith or all is lost. Show them all that I didn't die in vain! Show them!_

Surprisingly, Teresa did believe and held up her small delicate hand out in front of her.

Once again she opened her mouth to speak. The sound that spewed forth however, was forceful, commanding and almost masculine in nature. Deep in her consciousness, Teresa was aware that her own voice had been amplified with that of Tommy's. She felt his presence inside of her, giving her the strength she was currently feeling course through her very veins. But instead of rejecting his thoughts, his spirit if you will, Teresa welcomed him. He allowed her to speak her with a thunderous tone of a god to get her point across:

"I said NO!"

Then a violent rush of power radiated out from her fingertips, sending a beam of white-hot luminosity towards the Nazis. Almost immediately, not only did the bullets stop in mid-flight, the burst of light had managed to push Schmidt and his team backwards with a great force. The three sentient programs were sent soaring through the air with a resonant "whoosh' before they all collided with solid marble floor.

The female rebel quickly turned around and began to sprint towards the windows. An astonished Facilitator was still standing by; rooted to the ground by the spectacular display of Teresa's mysteriously enhanced abilities.

Her hand shot out and roughly grabbed the program by the arm and together they launched themselves through the glass of the windowpanes.

llllll

The instant Schmidt saw the two remaining rebels fling themselves into the windows, he immediately gave chase. But not before ordering Captain Johansen to commandeer a vehicle and putting Braun in charge of transporting the prisoners back to Munich for interrogation.

In the meanwhile, Teresa and the Facilitator had tried to flee via automobile, but much to their bitter disappointment the remaining cars were all blocked in by Hitler's motorcade. The rebels also noticed that the hulking Captain Johansen was also at a disadvantage at obtaining a vehicle thanks to the Fuehrer's personal motor pool.

The human and the program ran in the opposite direction to avoid detection from the frustrated officer. Just when it seemed that there would be no means of escape, Teresa suddenly recalled seeing the plans for a stable drawn out on the blueprints for the château's grounds hours before she had jacked in.

"Come on, this way!" she called out to her companion in her normal speaking voice. The force that had possessed her body and mind moments earlier had fled for the time being. Millions of questions raced around in her head, but for now they would have to wait to be answered. Soon enough, though, Teresa Picard would pay a visit to the woman she held chiefly responsible for this debacle, the Seer.

_Yes, you old crone, _Teresa's mind cried out into the starless night sky_. You have much to answer for and I will make you pay! Tommy is dead and Marcel may still die thanks to your so-called prophecy! _

_Well your prophecy be damned, do you hear me witch? Damn all of your lies to hell!_

With hate and grief burning in heart, Teresa continued to run with the Facilitator in tow, the only thing that mattered was getting off the grounds of the Chateau Merovingian with her life. If she perished, Marcel would surely die.

_That won't happen, I won't let it! _

"Where are we going, Nova? There's not an available means of transportation in sight!" the Facilitator whined as he tried to keep up with the determined woman warrior.

Teresa replied decisively, "The Sandman and I went over the designs of every square foot of this place. There is a stable and where there's a stable they are horses."

"Horses, you say? Don't tell me we are going to ride out of here on horseback?"

"That is precisely what we are going to do! Now move your skinny ass, we don't have much time!"

The Facilitator sighed, resigning himself to follow Teresa's lead. He knew that once she had made her mind up about something there were only two choices: do as you are told or get the hell out of her way.

lllll

Commandant Schmidt's visual sensors were now in night vision mode. His eyes had also been equipped with infrared detectors so that he could close in on a target's body heat from even miles away. Now he searched the immense landscape of the palatial estate, determined to find the raven and apprehend her no matter what the cost.

_I must find her before the others do. If Menegle has his way he'll have her dissected like a lab rat. _

_No, I have other plans for you, my raven. I will discover the source of your power and harness it for myself. Why should the Reich reap the benefits, when I could rule the Matrix myself, and with the raven by my side, there would be no one powerful enough to stop me!_

It was at that precise moment that something crossed his field of vision, something that made him smile with delight.

He had picked up the raven's body heat, and judging her current trajectory, she was heading straight for the Merovingian's stables where he kept his prized Arabian horses.

lllll

Teresa quickly tried to open the door to the stables but found that it was padlocked.

"_Merde_!"

"Don't fret my pet, where there's a will there's a way," the Facilitator said reassuringly. Pulling his gun out of his jacket, the program let off two rounds, effectively disengaging the padlock.

Once they were inside, Teresa mounted the first steed she laid her eyes on, a beautiful honey-colored mare named Salome. Hastily, she threw on a saddle and placed a set of black leather reins over the mare's snout.

The Facilitator on the other hand, had been trying to mount a feisty young charger aptly named Loki, after the Norse god of mischief and trickery. Much to the program's dismay, every time he tried to climb aboard its back, the obstinate animal would throw him off. On his final attempt, the horse sent the Facilitator head long into a bale of hay, before it trotted off to find a nice patch of grass to nibble on.

"Stop fucking around!" Teresa hissed, disgusted with her companion's ineptitude.

Taking the reins securely in hand, Teresa expertly maneuvered her horse over to the Facilitator. Thrusting out her arm towards him she said, "Take my hand and get behind me. We don't have time for your poor horsemanship."

Just as the Facilitator had placed his foot in the stirrup he froze in mid-action when he heard the sound of a man's boisterous voice.

"Stop what you are doing, or I will kill you where you stand, exile!" Commandant Schmidt snarled with contempt. The metallic surface of his Lugar 9 mm gleamed in the moonlight. It had been drawn out and was aimed right at them.

Undeterred by his sudden and unwelcome presence, Teresa urged her compatriot to get on the horse.

The Facilitator's eyes darted about nervously, but he dared not move a muscle.

"Fraulein Picard, is it not?" Schmidt addressed Teresa directly, already knowing the answer to his own question. He smiled broadly at her looking like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

Teresa however, refused to respond. Instead, with all of the strength she could muster she yanked on the Facilitator's arm pulling him onto the horse, securely placing him in the saddle behind her.

Giving the reins a good hard tug, the horse whinnied as Teresa forced the mare to stand on its hind legs. Its front hoofs were flailing about wildly, almost striking the very surprised Commandant in the face. Thanks to his machine's speed, he managed to avoid serious injury, but not before he dropped his weapon.

No matter, the diversion served Teresa's purposes perfectly.

Digging her heels into the horse's sides, Teresa gave Salome a good swift kick start, motivating the mare to charge out of the stables in full blown gallop. With a frustrated growl Schmidt recovered his gun off the ground and began to shoot at the woman that had bested him once again.

Schmidt was angry and disappointed but not refused to admit his defeat:

_You're not out yet, my lovely rebel. You still have miles to go before you reach an exit and there is nowhere in this simulated reality where I can't find you, and find you I will!_

Looking about the stables he noticed that there was one horse left a black powerful looking stallion with a long shiny mane of ebony and eyes the color of the full harvest moon. Yellowish and foreboding, those eyes held an unspeakable evil in them. Many of Mero's stable hands were afraid of this horse, whispering amongst themselves that even though the stallion was their master's favorite, it was thought to be demonic in origin. Hence his name: Lucifer.

Schmidt smiled as he read the moniker on name plate that adorned the door to Lucifer's stall. Not bothering with reins or a saddle, Schmidt quickly mounted the impressive animal and with a kick from his heels, he and Lucifer rode off into the night in pursuit of the raven._  
_

llllll

"Faster, Nova, go faster," pleaded the Facilitator.

"I'm going as fast as this horse can take us, what's your hurry?" Teresa asked perturbed. They had been riding across the French countryside and hadn't seen a soul for miles.

"Well, don't look now, but your friend the Nazi is right behind us and gaining ground fast!"

Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, sure enough, there was Schmidt on a horse of his own, galloping his way towards them at top speed. In spite of herself, Teresa couldn't help but notice that the commandant cut quite a handsome figure riding bare back on a horse. Like a dark avenger from days of old, Schmidt doggedly made haste in his quest to capture them.

"Fuck, doesn't that man ever give up?" Teresa asked exasperatedly.

"My dear Nova, now might be a good time to remind you that we're not dealing with a 'man', per say"

Then as if on cue, a bullet had whizzed by Teresa's head, confirmation of the Facilitator's statement. Although the Nazi officer was still several kilometers behind them, his marksmanship was unparalleled.

Teresa had to think of something fast, or they were done for. Looking over to her right she saw a dense forest of trees. Quickly she maneuvered Salome into the thickness of the woods hoping the dense brush and foliage would allow her to elude her pursuer. But Schmidt was hot on her trail, and no matter what path she took, the Nazi was never too far behind.

Suddenly, Teresa's heart sank when she felt her horse was beginning to tire. She had been riding Salome at a neck-breaking speed for a better part of an hour and feared that the poor mare would give out from under her at any moment.

Schmidt could sense that the rebels were slowing down and forced his own horse to speed up until he found himself riding side by side with his quarry.

"Stop the horse now, Fraulein or I'll be forced to shoot!" he yelled over to Teresa as he aimed his gun at her.

Teresa just stared straight ahead, not daring to look over at Schmidt. She told herself to just keep going, but Salome was having none of it. Without warning, the exhausted mare stopped in mid -gallop, throwing her passengers off of her in the process.

As he landed on the ground, the Facilitator smashed his head on a boulder. He rendered unconscious as a result.

Teresa was much luckier when she fell on her back onto the soft grass of the forest's clearing. Trying to get her bearings, she looked up and saw the night sky with its new moon shining overhead. She gasped rather loudly when a dark figure unexpectedly eclipsed the moon above her, casting her into total darkness.

A deep low chuckle followed by a sultry male voice sent a chill down Teresa's spine.

"Good evening Fraulein. I believe we haven't been properly introduced. Let me remedy the situation."

Frantically, Teresa's hand searched for her sword, but it was nowhere to be found. It must have been thrown in another direction when she was cast off the horse.

"Don't come any closer, or I'll kill you!" she warned, but somewhere deep inside of her, Teresa wanted Schmidt to approach.

"Come now, Fraulein. Do you really think I've chased you all this way just to kill you? If I wanted that I would have done so at the chateau." Schmidt purred silkily.

The sound of his voice was almost hypnotic, but she refused to give in, "You know what I'm capable of, you've seen my power. Now get the hell away from me before I'm forced to use it again!"

Teresa gasped again when she suddenly felt the solid weight of Schmidt's body pounce on hers like a hungry jungle cat. She struggled to get away, but his hands had quickly encircled her wrists, rendering her immobile. With his rugged face just inches away from hers he devoured her with his eyes as he said, "I don't want to kill you, Teresa. Despite what you are, I want you very much alive."

"I won't tell you anything, so you might as well kill me while you still have the chance, you bastard,' she said defiantly.

"Why should we fight, my raven? We are kindred spirits, you and I. You are meant for greater things."

Her eyes widened in shock and surprise but before she could say another word, Schmidt abrubtly took possession of her mouth with his own. Again, Teresa struggled, but Schmidt was unrelenting as he continued to kiss her hungrily. When his long wet tongue began to trace the outline of her full pouting lips it proved to be her undoing.

She moaned against his mouth when she felt nipples of her breasts become stiff and taut, aching to be suckled by the very mouth that was kissing hers. Teresa was no novice when it came to art of a good kiss, but Schmidt's expertise was like nothing she had ever experienced. She marveled in the intensity of the arousal Schmidt elicited in her. He had awakened in her a voracious lust with just the touch of his lips and tongue. It was absolutely mind blowing.

No man had ever made her feel this physical hunger before, not even Marcel. What Teresa felt for her captain was romantic love, idealistic and to some degree pure and chaste. What she was experiencing with Schmidt however was very different.

Oh, she had faked it many times with hundreds of clients during her stint as a prostitute and even convinced a few of them that her ardor had been genuine. But now, here lying underneath Schmidt's hard body pressing into hers, she realized that for the first time she was feeling true unbridled passion. She could feel it running through her entire body like a rampant fever. And it frightened her to wit's end.

Giving into the fervor of his kisses, Teresa opened her mouth allowing Schmidt to taste the sweetness within. He growled deep in this throat when he felt her tongue seek out his and it stimulated him greatly causing him to grind the evidence of his arousal against her leg.

_Oh my God_, she thought, _he's so hard right now and I want him so much_. _I need_ _to feel him inside me_.

But the rational side of her mind tried to take over:

_Stop it Teresa; don't let the whore in you give in. That part of your life is over. This is not a man you want, he's a machine, he is the enemy and you must get away!_

She knew that this was wrong, that she should try to escape from his embrace, but Schmidt stirred something within her that could not be denied. Despite her misgivings, she wanted him, plain and simple. His animalistic side called to her, and even though he had killed Tommy this night, a little part of her was turned on by his basic, primal maleness. She wanted to know what it would be like to be possessed by a man like that, to give in to desires she's held in check for so long. Schmidt made her want to unleash that part of herself that was wild, ferocious and reckless.

After a few moments, he left her clinging mouth and began to kiss his way to her neck. which was still covered in blood. Instead of being repulsed by it, he reveled in the coppery sweet taste of her enemies' blood and the slight perspiration of her body. His tongue began to lick her skin clean as he found that he could not get enough of her.

The sensation of Schmidt's mouth on her body had set Teresa ablaze with yearning. Kissing him like this went against everything she had held dear and it was at that moment that rationality set in again. Marcel was being held prisoner. God only knows where and here she was about to betray him with his greatest enemy.

"No, stop. Please stop,' Teresa murmured into Schmidt's ear. He went right on kissing her skin paying no attention to what she had just said. Again she pleaded, "Stop it! Get off of me!"

Lifting his face away from her neck, Schmidt said rather angrily, "What do mean by stop? Don't you dare tell me to stop now, Teresa! I don't like it when a woman turns out to be a cock-tease!"

Teresa's eyes were wide with fear, realizing that if she refuses him, Schmidt will take what he wants from her by force. Just when she thought that the worst was yet to come, she saw something over his right shoulder that made her sigh with relief. It was the Facilitator. He had awoken from his unconscious state, his head slightly bleeding from his contact with the boulder.

Despite his own injuries, he knew that he must help his female comrade or she would be violated by the Nazi scum. Not allowing the commandant to get his pants undone, the exile had jutted the barrel of his gun against the back of Schmidt's head.

"You don't like cock-teases, huh, my friend? Too bad, because you're going to absolutely hate this"!" the exile seethed furiously.

Then without too much fanfare, he pulled the trigger of his gun, sending a single bullet into the back of Schmidt's cranium. The impact of the shot instantly sent the sentient being's programming in search of another host, as the dead body of a teenaged boy slumped over Teresa.

Pushing the cadaver off her, she quickly thanked her rescuer.

"Are you alright? You're bleeding." Teresa said with genuine concern.

The Facilitator simply shrugged and said, "Don't worry about it. I'll be o.k. Besides, you saved my life more than once tonight. It was the least I can do."

Teresa gave him a little nod and asked, "Do you know where we are?"

Helping his female companion back on her feet, he smiled as he replied, "Yup, I know exactly where we are. We're only a few short paces away from the Seer's cottage. If we hurry, we can make it there before sunrise. You know that the Nazis can't touch us there, not with the new firewalls the old girl's got installed now."

The Seer was the last person she wanted to see, but under the circumstances they had very little choice in the matter. They were miles away from an exit and they needed her help if Teresa was going to get out of the Matrix and rescue Captain Marcel.

End Chapter Twenty


	21. The Illusion of Truth

**The Wages of War**

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix, the Matrix owns me.

A/N: The crew of the Morpheus must now deal with the aftermath of their failed mission. As Captain Marcel and his wife Marie are being held prisoner at the most dreaded concentration camp in history, each will suffer unspeakable horrors at the hands of the Third Reich.

Meanwhile, Teresa confronts Ophelia, the Seer about the nature of her new and strange powers. However Ophelia has a few revelations of her own, particularly about Teresa's unnatural fascination with Commandant Schmidt.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**The Illusion of Truth **

"Hello, Nova, how nice to see you again."

"Save the niceties for someone who gives a damn, Sapphire! Now where is she? Where is that _witch_?" Teresa snarled at the exotic looking Asian woman that had greeted her at the door to the Seer's cottage.

The incensed rebel who was still wearing the tattered remnants of a once elegant ball gown was determined to see Ophelia no matter what obstacle tried to get in her way. She would not allow anything or anyone, for that matter; keep her from getting the answers she so desperately required. If she had to take Ophelia's watchdog out, then so be it.

"Nova!" exclaimed her incredulous companion, the Facilitator. Embarrassed by the human girl's impudence and obvious disrespect, he tried to make his apologies to the Seer's constant and vigilant custodian.

"Sapphire…"he began shakily. He stopped speaking in mid-sentence, his words halted by the sight of a delicate yet steady hand held up in silent protest.

"There is no need for an act of contrition. It is understandable why Nova would be upset," the guardian said softly, hoping her words would diffuse a potentially volatile situation.

Instead, Sapphire's attempt at kindness had the opposite effect, and only managed to enrage Teresa all the more.

In an instant, Nova's hard cold gaze searched Sapphire's strikingly beautiful countenance, in an effort to intimidate the other woman. And yet the expression on the guardian's face remained tranquil and serene. As Teresa tried to stare her down, Sapphire's eyes displayed no fear, and contained no animosity. There was only the patience and wisdom of someone that had found their path to enlightenment.

With a voice barely above a whisper Teresa seethed, "Upset? Upset you say? You have no idea what I'm going through, _program_! Now kindly get out of my way before I _move_ you!"

When Sapphire refused to step aside, Teresa roughly pushed past the Seer's protector to gain entry into the humble abode. With confident purposeful strides, the woman warrior began to walk down the narrow little corridor that led straight to the kitchen.

Not bothering to turn around, Teresa called back to the Facilitator, "This won't take long. In the meanwhile, make yourself useful. Contact my ship right away! I'm sure the crew will want a full account of what has happened."

Wordlessly, the male program quickly slipped his hand into the breast pocket of his waist length leather jacket and pulled out his communication device. Deftly, his long bony fingers raced across the face of the keypad as the Facilitator tried to establish contact with the _Morpheus. _

Teresa meanwhile continued her trek towards the Seer. Soon enough, she found herself standing in front of the beaded curtain that marked the entrance to the kitchen. The cheap plastic beads were the final barrier between her and the truth.

llllll

Captain Marcel awoke to the sting of ice cold water being thrown in his face. As the chilly liquid dripped down his skin, his dark eyes slowly moved about the room he now found himself in, to try to get his bearings. As his still blurry vision began to make out shapes and images, his eyes were immediately and cruelly forced to endure the searing pain of a bright blinding light shone into them.

Closing his eyelids to shut out the offending illumination, Marcel suddenly heard voices speaking in hushed urgent tones. Try as he might to discern the nature of the dialogue, in his current state of disorientation, the injured Zion officer could not comprehend what was being said.

Then quite unexpectedly one of the voices addressed him directly. "_Guten morgen_, Herr Dubois! I trust you slept well? "

Lunging forward, Marcel roared with anger and contempt. "Where am I? And more importantly, what have you done with my wife?" It was at this point that he painfully discovered the restraints around his wrists and ankles. As he tried to remove himself from the chair he was confined to, the thin metal of piano wire serving as his makeshift manacles sliced mercilessly into his flesh.

As he winced with unbearable pain he could now make out a thick, sausage like finger being wagged in his face.

"_Tsk, tsk_, Herr Dubois, you shouldn't be moving about like this. A man in your condition has got to take it easy. You've lost a lot of blood. But, luckily for you, we were able to remove the bullet in time. If we had waited a few more minutes…well, let's just say that you should consider yourself very fortunate to be alive!"

"Where am I? What is this place?" Marcel inquired again. He was now able to get better view of his current environment. His eyes quickly took in what was now plainly obvious to him: the mildew ridden brick walls, a small cot with its moth-bitten bedding, and just beyond that, a wooden bucket that served as a lavatory. They were no doubt the trappings of some sort of holding cell. With a trained eye, Marcel was able to discriminate that there were no windows to speak of. And the heavy iron door was the only way in and out of this dismal room.

A male voice, with the flourish of a cordial host, offered Marcel an explanation of sorts. "Well Herr Dubois, due to the injuries you have sustained, we did not have time to take you back all the way to Deutschland. As a result, you and your lovely wife had to be transported to the nearest facility we have. You are in _Auschwitz_, my dear captain, and I bid you welcome."

Not wanting to mince words, Marcel cut right to the chase. "I demand to know where Marie is. I want to see my wife, NOW!"

Marcel's outburst was responded to with a vicious slap to the side of his face. The force of the blow nearly turned his chair over. Again the piano wire cut deep into his skin as he tried to keep his seat upright. He could feel the warm trickle of blood start to pool into his shoes and drip off the tips of his fingers as he writhed in agony.

Looking up, he tried to identify his assailant and captor, but the harsh glare from the hot white luminosity impeded his efforts. A few moments later, however, the light source was eclipsed by a dark figure looming overhead.

"You are in no position to make demands of any kind! We make the rules here, not you! You are expected to fully cooperate with us," the dark apparition declared.

"And what if I refuse?" Marcel asked defiantly.

The towering shadow laughed callously before he gave his reply. "Then your lovely wife will pay for your insolence. Of that you can be certain, Herr Dubois! Now you will tell us what we need to know -- or Madame Dubois will be made to suffer unspeakable horrors while _you _watch!"

Marcel's eyes opened wide with shock and surprise as the sinister shape lowered itself to peer down at him. Captain Dubois now found himself eye to eye with the Angel of Death, the Butcher of Munich: Doctor Josef Mengele.

"If you touch one hair on her head, I will…"

"…you will what? _Kill me_, Herr Dubois? From where I'm standing, you can't even swat a fly! You're threats are empty, captain! Do you actually think your pitiful little band of rabble rousers can defeat the might of the Third Reich?"

When Marcel refused to answer, Mengele threw his hands up in exasperation. "And you accuse _us_ of deluding your race! It is you that blinds your people to the truth! _Zion_ is the illusion, not the Matrix! The real world is unstable, inhospitable and dead! There is no promised land, no Shangri-La, only the barren wasteland of an extinct planet, which _your _kind helped to destroy! We, on the other hand, offer humans stability, purpose and order! The machines out of benevolence for your kind have engineered and structured a reality that allows human beings to wallow in the creature comforts they are accustomed to. And yet you and your pathetic Resistance movement dare to bite the hand that has fed you like ungrateful mangy curs!

No matter, once we've extracted what we need from you, we will be able to launch our attack on your pathetic primitive society and lay it to waste, once and for all!"

Marcel's jaw was set and locked as he seethed with rage. "I won't tell you anything, so you might as well kill me now, you bastard!"

"On the contrary, I want you very much alive! How else will you be able to hear your wife's screams as I dissect her like a laboratory rat right before your very eyes? Maybe as I open her up and remove her womb or perhaps some other vital organ, you might be persuaded to give us the codes to your precious mainframe." Upon finishing his statement, the corrupt physician punctuated it with a sinister grin.

Marcel was beside himself as anxiety threatened to overtake him. The prospect of witnessing his love's torture at the hands of this madman was too incomprehensible to imagine, but the destruction of the last human city was an equally immeasurable horror. It would be complete genocide and this he could not allow. His duty was to keep Zion's secrets out of the hands of his enemies, even at the cost of his own life. This was the oath he took when he swore his allegiance to the Zion Council. But now as Marie's existence hung in the balance, would he be able to sacrifice the only woman that has ever meant anything to him to save Zion?

As the captain weighed his bleak options, Mengele slightly turned his head away from his prisoner to speak another person in the room. Marcel could now clearly see the large, impressive figure of an SS officer fast approaching the doctor to receive his orders.

"Captain Johansen, will be you so kind as to bring Madame Dubois to me?"

The Nazi centurion acknowledged his instructions. "Yes, Herr Doctor."

Snapping his fingers as if he had remembered some last minute detail, the doctor addressed the officer again, halting his retreat. "Captain Johansen, will you please see to it that my _surgical instruments_ are brought to me as well. There is a new technique in obstetric surgery that just I've learned from a colleague of mine and I'm just dying to put it into practice…"

Captain Johansen stoically accepted his orders with a slight nod then silently left the dungeon-like cell to carry them out.

Angered and repulsed, the rebel captain shouted out at his machine adversary with all the hate he could muster. "You're insane, your programming is corrupted! How can you call yourself a man of medicine and still commit the atrocities you do?"

The Nazi doctor's eyes opened wide with incredulous surprise. "That is your first mistake, _human._ I am _not_ a man, therefore not bound to your wretched code of ethics. And in spite of my repugnant appearance, I am a superior being; you'd do well to remember that!

As for the 'atrocities' you accuse me of. Don't be preposterous! What do _you _know of medicine or science for that matter? Advancements in the medical field could not have been achieved unless necessary sacrifices were made. Yes, many have lost their lives in the process, but it is of no consequence when you think about the overall benefits to those that have survived! "

For the first time since his encounter with the mad scientist, Marcel suddenly had a moment of clarity. "You're not just talking about science, are you Mengele? You are actually describing the means of mankind's imprisonment, aren't you? Those godforsaken _pods_ you breed us in. I should have known that was _your_ handiwork!"

With an arrogant sneer, the doctor addressed his prisoner. "I consider them to be my greatest achievement!"

"I wouldn't be touting your so-called accomplishments, if I were you, _butcher_! The 'sacrifices' you speak of are the people that have refused to accept this _fabricated _world as reality, and that frightens you, doesn't it? If frightens the lot of you and that's why you need to exterminate millions under the pretense of racial inferiority! But that, my friend _is_ the illusion!

The actual facts behind your racist beliefs and fascist rhetoric are fear and ignorance! As the awakenings from this nightmare continue to increase in number, you are afraid, no, I take that back, you are _terrified_!Well know this doctor, even if I die, there are will be always someone ready and able to take my place. Taking my life will not stop the Resistance from pulling away the wool from humanity's eyes and finally learning the undeniable truth! Face it Mengele, the Third Reich's days are numbered!"

Afterward, the echo of Marcel's impassioned words hung in the air for a few breathless moments. The captain half-expected to be struck again, and braced himself for impact as best he could. But instead of delivering another blow, the treacherous physician chose to stare intently at Marcel instead. Then quite unexpectedly, he put his hands together and began to clap rather enthusiastically.

With counterfeit flattery, the doctor's response was laden with insulting sarcasm. "Bravo, Herr Dubois, bravo! I simply must commend you on such a fervent speech, filled with so much emotion and heartfelt sentiment. Your words were so eloquent and spoken with such conviction I was almost moved to tears!"

"Go _fuck _yourself, _machine_!" Marcel retorted.

Again mimicking human emotion with a false sense of moral outrage, the Angel of Death shot back. "Such language, and it is truly unbecoming of an officer such as yourself. But then again Madame Dubois has also demonstrated her aptitude for a colorful turn of phrase. No doubt she has honed her skills for delivering witty rejoinders after wallowing around in the muck with your kind for years. Pity that she chose to betray her race with a black bastard like you! She is such a fine specimen of white womanhood. Good breeding stock to perpetuate the Aryan race, if you know what I mean…"

Tired of Mengele's insinuations and thinly-veiled threats, Marcel roared, "You heed my words and heed them well! I promise you by all I hold sacred, that before you take your last artificial breath, mine will be the last face you see!"

Finding Captain Marcel's deadly vow completely ludicrous, the doctor chuckled jovially. "Such brave talk coming from a _dead man_, Herr Dubois, and make no mistake, your death is inevitable."

It was at this precise moment that the iron door opened wide to allow the return of Captain Johansen. Only this time he was not alone. Slowly, he pushed in a stainless steel gurney that contained a semi-conscious Marie Dubois tightly strapped down onto its surface.

Marcel anxiously looked upon her, as he simultaneously felt relief and horrible uncertainty. Aside for a few minor bruises on her face, she appeared relatively unharmed. Thank God, he thought gratefully. But when Doctor Mengele walked over to her and ran the back of his hand across her cheek, Captain Marcel's heart sank with the unequivocal knowledge that his wife's continued well-being had come to an end.

Turning around, the Nazi doctor looked directly at Marcel and smiled evilly. "Yes my dear captain you _will_ die! However, let it not be said that I'm not a chivalrous fellow, after all, _ladies first_!"

llllll

"Nova! How sweet of you to pay this old lonely woman a visit. I had a feeling you'd be coming to see me, so I baked you a fresh batch of _madelines. _I know how much you loved them as a girl." The Seer's greeting had been warm, and welcoming. Her demeanor was much like an overly attentive grandmother doting on her favorite grandchild.

Ever so gently, Ophelia placed the freshly baked golden-colored treats into a small woven basket. All the while she smiled lovingly at Teresa. When she had completed her task the Seer carefully walked over to her guest and offered up the _madelines_ to her.

"Go on, _mon petite_, take one. I made them extra special for you."

But the Teresa would have none of it. She saw through the older woman's ruse to pacify her with soothing words and a few cookies.

"You can take your cookies and your bullshit and shove them! I want to know why you told us Tommy was the One! You knew, didn't you? You knew the whole time that he wasn't the chosen one Marcel had been looking for! And yet you said _nothing_ you old crone! You led us to believe that he could save Zion and end the war! And now because of your lies, he's dead! Did you hear that you witch? He's DEAD!" At this point Teresa was raving like a mad woman. The raging fire in her eyes was burning bright, blinding her to everything else.

"Teresa, you must listen to me now," the Seer pleaded with her. "I'm sorry for Tommy's death, I truly am. But I never claimed him to be the One. Everybody, including Marcel, assumed that he was. As much as it pains me to say this, Tommy Ackerman was just a means to an end. His life _and_ death did serve a purpose. You must believe me when I tell you that he did not die in vain."

Scoffing at the Seer's ridiculous statements, Teresa sneered at the old woman with contempt. Despite her feelings of detestation, she still felt the need to satisfy her own morbid curiosity. "Oh really, and what purpose could have been so important and so noble that it cost him his life?"

"His purpose, dear heart, was to protect and conceal the identity of the true One," Ophelia replied plainly.

Nova was astonished, but refused to believe the Seer's revelations.

More lies, no doubt, she angrily thought to herself.

The Seer continued, "You see Teresa, when the One was designed, it was not strong enough to assume its mantel of responsibility. Unfortunately, the anomaly suffered from a congenital heart defect. It was an unforeseen eventuality in the DNA sequencing. By the time we discovered it, it was too late. Time alone would be the healing factor. There was little we could do about it but wait. In the meanwhile, someone else was created to divert the enemy's attention away from the true anomaly, so that the Nazis could not destroy humanity's last hope for freedom."

"So Tommy was just a _decoy_? A willing target, is that what you're telling me?"

Shaking her head in emphatic denial, the Seer gave her reply. "Oh, no, child, that is not what I'm saying. Tommy had no idea of what his true purpose was; he only knew that he was drawn to _you_. You see _mon petite_, he was _your_ protector."

Suddenly Teresa experienced the sickening sensation of the walls closing in all around her. As the bile rose to her throat, she fought hard against the urge to vomit.

The female rebel's body began to shake violently as if a seizure had overtaken her. Placing her hands to her ears, Teresa tried to block out the Seer's words of deceit.

Still, the Seer pushed on, she had to reveal the truth to Nova. The time had finally come.

Looking deeply into her eyes, Ophelia the Seer unveiled her final admission.

"Teresa, _you _are the One!"

Gently, Ophelia placed her own weathered hands over Teresa's in an attempt to remove them from her ears. The girl however would not relent; her anger and denial were too great to overcome.

"No, you're lying! It can't be true!" Teresa thrashed her head from side to side, trying drive out Ophelia's declaration out of her mind.

However, the Seer was steadfast, as she resolutely nodded her head in affirmation. "You know this to be true. You felt it the moment your new powers manifested themselves in you."

Enraged, Teresa swiftly dropped her hands to her sides. Subsequently, she viciously turned on the Seer, unleashing all of her pent up fury on the seemingly defenseless elderly woman. Wrapping her fingers around Ophelia's throat, Teresa pushed her towards the kitchen table, and then slammed her body down on top of the hardwood surface.

Much to Nova's surprise, the clairvoyant didn't cringe or demonstrate any sign of discomfort. Her facial expressions remained impassive and serene as she stared up at the younger woman with her warm chocolate brown eyes.

"No more games, no more lies!" Teresa shouted ferociously. "You've got until the count of three to tell me the truth, or so help me, I'll _kill_ you right here, right now!"

Ophelia, simply smiled up at her and said, "Oh you can try if you like, but

I'm sure you'll find it an exhaustive and redundant exercise in futility."

Teresa scoffed, "And what does that mean, soothsayer?"

Ophelia sweetly replied, "Only this." Then to Teresa's absolute surprise, she felt a pair of strong hands clamp down onto her shoulders then wrench her off of Ophelia. Roughly, she was whirled around like a dervish, only to have her forehead rammed solidly with Sapphire's own.

Temporarily stunned, Teresa staggered around the kitchen like a drunken sailor on shore leave. Before she could regain her equilibrium, the shocked rebel was abruptly thrown into the nearest wall with the greatest of ease.

But in spite of her opponent's sneak attack, Nova quickly recovered, ready to take the guardian on. Sapphire prepared herself for the ensuing battle by striking an elegant yet formidable fighting pose. Holding her delicate hands out in front of her body, her fingers tightly fused together, as they transformed into instruments of pain and death.

The Seer cried out to both women to cease their violent actions, but her pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears. Teresa and Sapphire started to run toward one another with the indomitable ferocity of two combatants on the battlefield. Shockingly, Sapphire's and Teresa's endeavor to rip each other apart were brought to a screeching halt. Limbs and fists were suspended in mid-air, when to everyone's astonishment, the booming sound of a gun shot abruptly rang out.

All three women sharply turned their heads to ascertain the source of the deadly interruption. There, standing near the kitchen's entrance was the tall, lanky frame of the Facilitator. The barrel of his gun was still pointed upwards after having fired a bullet into the ceiling.

"Alright, I've seen enough!" The Facilitator's face was twisted into an angry scowl as he pointed his weapon at Teresa. Next, he motioned to her, with the barrel of the gun, to move to the far end of the kitchen near the basin. Surprisingly, she obeyed his non-verbal command without a word of objection.

Satisfied that she no longer posed a threat to neither the Seer nor her body guard, the incensed male program began to chastise Teresa for her misconduct.

"Nova, have you forgotten that Marcel's life, _and_ your mother's I might add, are in very serious danger? You don't have time to indulge in a cat fight right now! And in the Seer's house no less! What in the hell has gotten into you girl? Have you forgotten your place?"

Unflinchingly, Teresa stared back at the Facilitator. "I have not forgotten for _one_ instant what's at stake, _program_! How dare you pontificate to me?"

Before things could escalate any further between the human girl and the seasoned program, the voice of reason intervened when the Seer spoke up. "Nova, the Facilitator is right! Beating me and Sapphire into a bloody pulp won't help save either one of your parents!"

Teresa's cold hard gaze was met by the knowing sympathetic eyes of the Seer. Almost immediately, her warrior's heart was softened. The young woman knew that both AI were speaking the truth.

After a few moments of careful deliberation, Teresa begrudgingly acknowledged the critical circumstances they all found themselves in. The answers to her burning questions would have to be pushed aside for now.

Lowering head in submission and shame for her deplorable behavior, Teresa Picard asked the Facilitator to brief her on his communiqué with the ship and Marcel's current location. To her horror, she soon learned that he and her mother were being held prisoners at _Auschwitz_ by the infamous Dr. Mengele.

With the captain now missing in action, Teresa needed to assume command in his stead. With a heavy heart, Nova knew that she had no choice but return to the _Morpheus. _The Zion hovercraft had to be steered clear of the always imminent danger of a sentinel attack. Teresa's first duty was to ensure the safety of her crew, even at the cost of those she loved dearly.

Casting a stern glance at the Facilitator Teresa quickly adopted the stance of a commanding officer by throwing her shoulders back and clasping her hands behind her. "I want you to head up the rescue team. Assemble the best exiles you've got, I want no mistakes, do you understand? You are to retrieve the captain and my mother by any means necessary!"

The Facilitator, convinced that Teresa had been brought back to her senses, promised to carry out her orders to the letter.

"Now we've got to get you back onboard that garbage scow you call ship before the SS decide to deploy a nasty swarm of squiddies!" The male program smirked at Teresa's angry reaction when he referred to her vessel as a barge for refuse.

As she opened her mouth to parry his insult with one of her own, the Seer wisely interceded. "Nova, there's no time to locate an exit by conventional means. Hold out your hand."

Hesitantly, Teresa stretched out her right hand, palm side up.

Quick as flash, Ophelia reached into an apron pocket and fished out an ordinary looking house key, which she promptly placed into Teresa's waiting palm. Gently, the Seer's own hand folded the girl's fingers over the key.

With a motherly gaze, the Seer looked at the young girl before her. "This key will take you home, child."

Bewildered by Ophelia's claims, Teresa started to ask how.

"Shush _mon petite_ and listen to me now. The minute you walk out this room you will see a door directly in front of you. It is one that you have not allowed yourself to see until this very moment. Insert the key into its lock and open it. Once you cross its threshold, you will be back in the real world. Trust me."

Strangely enough, and in spite of herself, Teresa did begin to slowly put her trust in Ophelia. Not knowing what compelled her to do so, she placed a tentative but tender kiss on both of Ophelia's wrinkled cheeks. The old woman smiled with genuine affection. But as Nova turned to leave, Ophelia felt obliged to momentarily detain the young freedom fighter with an ominous divination.

"Teresa, you must not let anything or _anyone_ lead you astray from your true purpose. There is one that will stop at nothing to either exploit or destroy you. You _know_ who I speak of. Stay away from him child. Getting involved with Schmidt will only bring about the end of Zion and all you hold dear."

Teresa gave Ophelia a brief nod, and then swiftly turned away from her.

With great sadness, the Seer watched as Nova disappeared through the beaded curtain to return to the world from whence she came.

Noticing the pained look on the older woman's face, Sapphire was prompted to ask, "Mother, what troubles you so?"

"I see dark times ahead for us all, my daughter, especially for Nova. Her trials as the One are just beginning. The fate of both our worlds rests in her hands now."

"And if she fails?" Sapphire's expression was one of grim concern.

"Then life as we know it, my child will end."

End Chapter Twenty-One


	22. For the Greater Good

**The Wages of War **

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the Matrix, the Matrix owns me.

**A/N**: First and foremost, this is was a very, very difficult chapter for me to write. I had to revisit some painful memories in my not too distant past in order to lend authenticity to the emotional core my heroine, Teresa.

And speaking of her, for those of you that have been faithfully following her adventures, you all know by now that she is the One. However, she will soon learn that being an almost unstoppable Systemic Anomaly doesn't make one impervious to grief and a broken heart. And yes, dear friends, our Teresa will soon become acquainted with the unbearable pain of losing someone she loves.

**Warning**: This chapter will deal with a very graphic rape as well as torture and mutilation. For those of you, who are faint of heart, you might want to turn back now. For everyone else, sit back and enjoy the show…

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**For the Greater Good**

Marie Dubious was sharply awakened into full consciousness by the pungent odor of smelling salts. As she violently tossed her head from side to side to escape the foul smell, a broken capsule containing the repugnant stench was held firmly underneath her flaring nostrils. When her eyes finally flew open, her field of vision was instantaneously assaulted by the undesirable sight of Doctor Josef Mengele.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Madame Dubois." Marie could sense the malevolent undercurrent of Mengele's convivial salutation.

With eyes now an icy shade of blue, she glared boldly at the visage of the medical program. Next, she scanned her surroundings, trying to ascertain what her current dilemma was. When her eyes fell upon the ghastly display of the razor-sharp, gleaming stainless implements splayed out on a tray next to her gurney, Marie inhaled sharply. There was no doubt that the so-called medical instruments were meant to be used on her or her husband. Marie wasted no time in asking what she needed to know about so urgently.

"Where is my husband? What have you monsters done to him?" As the gravelly sounding words slipped past her dry cracked lips, her throat burned from terrible dehydration. She had been denied food and water since her capture and subsequent incarceration. Her cries for help and the lack of fluids to slack her undying thirst contributed to the near total loss of her vocal abilities.

llllll

During her arduous journey on the overcrowded cattle car to _Auschwitz, _Marie remembered having kept an all night vigil, watching over her injured husband as he had lain across her lap, caring for him as best she could. Marcel had drifted in and out of consciousness as his devoted wife whispered words of love and encouragement. At one point when she was sure that Marcel had been momentarily insensible, Marie dared herself to survey the people that surrounded her. What she saw immediately and unequivocally broke her heart.

The coldhearted Nazis had not discriminated when they had rounded up their intended victims. Young and old alike had been tightly packed into the railroad car, like sardines in a can, barely leaving any room to move or breath.

The huddled teeming masses of humanity exhibited before her eyes plagued Marie. There were entire families, some with very young children, lovers clinging desperately to one another, and friends comforting the frail or infirm. They were all sorrowfully staring back at her. Uncertainty and fear were etched across the faces of every man, woman and child. And in their deep soulful eyes she saw abysmal hopelessness. Their fates unknown and every single one of them were frightened out their minds.

These are the people that we're supposed to be saving, Marie thought miserably to herself. Oh my dear God, who will save them now?

Looking down at her fallen husband she wondered woefully, who will save _us_?

Succumbing to inescapable exhaustion and utter desolation, Marie Dubois finally allowed her tears of despair to flow freely down her grimy cheeks as she quietly wept.

llllll

"Marie, I'm here, _mon amour_! I'm right over here!" Marcel's unmistakable timber spoke to her, reassuring his beloved that he was indeed still alive. Marie tried frantically to get a glimpse of her husband, but the restraints keeping her strapped down to the gurney hindered her efforts. Still, her heart, for the moment was elated upon hearing the sound of Marcel's voice

Doctor Mengele, however, was not going to allow a joyful reunion between husband and wife. His reaction was swift, his punishment was cruel. Pointing a beefy finger in Marcel's direction, he barked his orders to Captain Johansen.

"Silence him, immediately!"

The colossal SS captain instantaneously obeyed the doctor by striking Marcel hard across the face with the back of an enormous hand. Blood gushed forth as Marcel's lips were cut by Johansen's gold, black onyx and diamond encrusted ring with its raised skull and crossbones insignia.

Marie, somehow finding her voice again, cried out. "No, please! Don't hurt him!"

The pitiless doctor rounded on the helpless Madame Dubois. "I have no intention of inflicting anymore pain on your so-called husband! But _you_ my dear, are a different story altogether."

Heartlessly, Mengele squeezed her face tightly within the vise-grip of one hand. He smiled slightly when she let out a pitiful groan of discomfort. He then turned her head sharply towards the massive form of his minion standing at the ready to do his bidding. With wide, fear-filled eyes Marie was forced to watch the slow but persistent approach of the hulking Captain Johansen. Malice and deadly intent were mounting steadily as the SS officer moved closer and closer still. Instinctively, Marie's body began to tremble all over, as the sentient being, akin to a silent predator, continued to draw near his defenseless quarry.

All the while, in spite of the ever increasing danger to himself, Marcel tried to dissuade his adversaries from harming his wife.

"Leave her out this, machine! This is between _you _and _me,_ Mengele! I'm the one you want! I'm the one you've doggedly pursued all of these years! Well I'm here; you've got me right where you want me! Deal with me, machine! Deal with _me_! "

Giving his most hated enemy an arrogant little smirk, Mengele regarded Marcel with cold clinical eyes. "Herr Dubois, I'm granting you one final opportunity to cooperate with us. Now give us the codes to the Zion mainframe, captain, or your pretty little wife will suffer the consequences!"

With the burden of the two worlds heavily weighing down upon his shoulders, an emotional battle was now being waged over the sovereignty of Marcel's mind and heart. For the first time in his life, he questioned his loyalties, his commitment to the cause. Could he still uphold his oath of taking Zion's secrets to the grave now that he faced the grim possibility of losing the woman he loved more than himself? As the Zion officer agonized and struggled with the most difficult decision of his life, he suddenly squeezed his eyelids shut in a vain attempt to prevent the deluge of tears threatening to cascade from his dark somber eyes.

Impatiently, the doctor's voice intruded on Marcel's despair. "Well, Herr Dubois, I believe your time has run out. What say you? We want your answer, NOW!

Gradually, Captain Marcel looked towards his wife, his bride, his everything. Marie in turn managed to tear her own eyes away from Captain Johansen. And for one brief moment Marcel's and Marie's gazes met. All of the love and devotion they felt for one another were shining brightly within their eyes.

In that same instant, something passed between them, a non-verbal exchange that only they could understand. It was a wordless communication of two people that have intimately shared their lives together in love and combat. It was in her cerulean depths that he sought out the answers to his dire quandary. Soon enough Marcel found what he had been looking for.

At long last, Johansen stood before a terrified but resolute Marie. Keeping a steady gaze on her husband, her mind kept repeating the following words, like a pious litany:

_This isn't real. _

_This isn't real. _

_This isn't real. _

_No matter what happens next, none of this_ _is real_!

Marcel finally replied to his captors with his ultimate decision.

"The codes to the Zion mainframe die with me, Mengele! I am an officer of the Zion High Command and I will NOT betray my people. No matter what you do to us in _this _reality, we _know_ that none of this is real! So do your worst, it will do nothing to loosen my tongue! "

Pursing his already thin lips together, the doctor appeared to be pondering what his response to Marcel's refusal would be.

Eventually, Mengele turned to the silent yet menacing SS officer. "Captain Johansen, I think that our 'guest' needs some mild persuasion, don't you? Just a gentle nudge in the right direction to get him to see things our way."

With a flat monotone voice the Germanic military program addressed his superior officer. "What did you have in mind, sir?"

A lecherous expression soon dominated Doctor Mengele's face, transforming his features into a frighteningly ghoulish mask. Still speaking to Johansen, the doctor turned around to look at Captain Marcel.

"We've certainly tried to get through to our thickheaded Negroid friend, haven't we? It would seem, however, that the thickness of his black skin has a higher pain threshold than the average Aryan man. Thus proving my theory that these mud people were designed to be beasts of burden, destined to be subservient to our superior race!"

Marcel, staring daggers at his enemy, remained perfectly still. He declined to dignify the doctor's ignorant words of blatant racism with a response.

Sneering with disgust, Doctor Mengele continued with his diatribe of hate. "And this particular _animal_ has even dared to claim the greatest prize amongst the purebloods: a white woman! A woman, I might add that has decided to lay down with this _mongrel,_ to mingle her blood with that of an inferior being!"

Marcel continued to stare straight ahead wearing an expression that appeared to be chiseled out of granite. He displayed no emotion whatsoever.

Frustrated with the rebel captain's stubborn impudence, he gave Johansen his next orders. "Captain, I think that Madame Dubois needs to be reminded of what it's like to have a _real_ man between those creamy supple thighs of hers, don't you agree?"

Mengele's licentious instructions, garnered Marcel's outraged surprise, as he disbelievingly observed the usually stoic Johansen give the doctor a knowing little smirk. Without a word, the gargantuan Nazi began to slowly undo his uniform trousers.

Oh my God, no! Marcel's thoughts screamed at him when he realized what the Nazis' intentions were. In spite of his courageous efforts to stay mentally strong for his spouse, his senses and eyes bitterly betrayed him. Frantically, he began to struggle against his restraints. Hissing between the grit of his teeth, Marcel tried his best to ignore the pain of the thin, razor-sharp piano wire slicing deeper into his tender flesh.

"Marie!" He cried out to his horrified wife. "Stay focused, _mon amour_! This all an elaborate illusion. This isn't happening!"

"I don't know if I can, Marcel! Please, don't let them do this to me! I _beg_ of you, please! I can't bear to let this happen to me, _again_!" Marie's voice was quaking as her lips trembled with sheer fright. When the tears began to stream down her terror-stricken face, the Zion captain felt as if his heart had been wrenched from his body. Marie's plea soon reminded him of the horrific treatment his wife had received at the hands of her former husband, Gaston Dupree.

Marcel had been absolutely appalled when he learned of the countless beatings and forced sexual encounters Marie had endured during her unholy marriage to that to that brute. After they had married in the real world, Marcel had made a solemn vow to Marie to always protect her and keep her from harm.

Now, it seemed that he would fail miserably to keep his promise.

lllll

"Nova, I'd think you'd better take a look at this." The _Morpheus_' operator had been urgently deciphering the lines of code for hours, trying to find any sign of their captain within the Matrix. Finally, after an exhaustive search, the Sandman had locked in on Captain Marcel's signal. It was faint, but it was irrefutable proof that he was still alive.

The Sandman's elation, however, was short-lived. Hope soon gave way to disappointment once the Zion-born operator realized Marcel's current location.

_Mother of God, he's in the belly of the beast, the dungeons of Auschwitz. Damn._

He was suddenly startled from his troubled thoughts when he felt the weight of Teresa's hand on his shoulder. Twisting his head around, the Sandman addressed the ship's first officer with the grim news.

"Nova, I've located the captain. You're not going to like this, but he's being held prisoner in the lower levels the compound."

Keeping her eyes on the lines code cascading on the flat screen computer monitors, Teresa Picard steeled her resolve. "Then we haven't got much time. Send word to the exiles that they'll have to move fast if we have any hope of recovering the captain."

"And don't forget your mother, Nova". The sudden scowl on Teresa's face spoke volumes to the operator. His not-so-gentle reminder that there was a second life at stake did not go over well with her, but the Sandman didn't care. He loved Teresa like a sister, but sometimes he felt like giving her a good swift kick in her hind quarters. He just couldn't understand her reasons for mistreating Marie the way she did.

Taking her hand off the operator's shoulder, Teresa repeated her orders. "Get in touch with the Facilitator!" When she saw the hesitation in his eyes, she narrowed hers, and then growled ferociously at him to get her point across. "Do it now, Sandman!"

Swiftly turning around to face his work station, the Sandman bitterly acknowledged his superior officer's instructions. "Yes, ma'am, right away!"

Angrily the Sandman muttered to himself while he depressed the keys on the console board with a loud clacking sound. His long practiced fingers quickly entered in the hacking commands necessary to send his encrypted communiqué to the exile leader, when something in the code unexpectedly caught his undivided attention.

At first, the astute young man thought he saw a slight deviation in the cryptograms, a glitch of some kind. But after carefully scrutinizing the infinite lines of green symbols for several minutes, the ship's operator attributed the distortion as a routine fluctuation in the code, nothing to be alarmed about.

And just when he was about to dismiss the hiccup to stress and overwork, the flux in the code had returned. Only this time the variations were strangely urgent in nature. As he continued to read the intricate encryptions, Sandman's hazel-green eyes opened wide with surprise.

_Oh sweet Jesus, it's Marie!_

Again the Sandman felt that his eyes were playing tricks on him. But there was no mistaking the horrible events unfolding within Matrix's tangled ciphers. He could now clearly see that Marie was being held down against her will and was about to be violated in the most heinous way possible.

Casting a hasty glance at Marie's still jacked in form, he yelled for Teresa, ignoring proper military decorum. "Nova, get your ass over here!"

Annoyed by her operator's informal address, Teresa tried to reassert her authority over him. "Operator, how dare you….?"

"…how dare I what? You need to see what's going on right now!" The Sandman's tone was harsh and demanding. The first officer was a little taken aback by the operator's apparent insubordination, but she also knew damned well that there must be a good reason behind it. The Sandman had always demonstrated the utmost respect for her and the captain and was fiercely loyal. He would have never spoken to her in such a manner unless something was seriously wrong.

When the angry scowl on her face softened, the operator readdressed his female superior. The tone of his voice mirrored the expression her face. "It's your mother, Teresa and she's in serious trouble."

Peering intently into the Sandman's eyes, Nova forced herself to ask the next question. "Tell me, what's going on?"

Pointing to the screen right in front of him, the skilled operator illustrated the exigency of the situation. "There's no other way to say this: your mother is about to be raped, by one of _them_! Do you realize the implications of what is about to happen?"

Teresa immediately brought her hand to her chest, clutching it tightly as she felt the ever beating muscle constrict with a sharp piercing pain. She knew all too well the ramifications of what was about to transpire. Teresa was no stranger to the gut-wrenching humiliation of rape. It is an act of extreme violence that had been perpetrated on her when she was still a budding young girl. Losing her innocence so sadistically had made her feel so alone, shameful, insignificant and worst of all it had exploited her frailty as a woman.

Her pain, however, had soon been turned into a murderous rage that drove her to kill the man that had cruelly deflowered her at the tender age 15.

_Yes, Gaston Dupree paid the ultimate price for defiling me_. Teresa sadly remembered the night she took a life for the first time, but she had been determined that Gaston, her stepfather, would never rape her or any other woman again. So she ended his life so that she could continue to live hers without fear or uncertainty.

As she had made her escape into the mist filled night, Teresa had made a solemn vow: to never allow any man to oppress and hurt her or any other woman ever again. And if she had to castrate every single man to fulfill that promise, so be it.

But now, as her very own mother was about to fall prey to the Nazi's sadistic machinations, Teresa felt powerless. She knew that in spite of her mother's best efforts to stay mentally strong, it would only be a matter of time before her woman's heart would betray them all. A woman would say or do anything to get a rapist to cease with his disgusting actions. And the Nazi's were counting on just that very thing.

Desperate anxiety raced through her system forcing her into action. Without a word to her operator, she walked towards jacking in station with bold decisive steps.

When the Sandman realized what Teresa was about to do, he leapt up from his chair. Grabbing her by the upper arm, he whirled her around to face him.

"Just what in the hell do you think you are doing?" The Sandman demanded to know what her next course of action would be.

Glaring at her subordinate with cold cerulean eyes, she answered him firmly.

"The only thing I can do given the situation."

"And what the fuck is that?"

"If she starts to talk, I'm going to pull the plug."

llllll

As the deviant doctor smiled on with approval, Captain Johansen had now moved himself into position, hovering precariously over his intended victim. Marie whimpered pathetically as she watched him unfasten the last of the buttons on the fly of his pants. Then carefully Johansen's huge hand reached into the opening of his trousers.

Slowly, methodically Captain Johansen brought forth his genitalia. When Marie's eyes first caught sight of it, she shrieked in terror. It was monstrously enormous; an exaggerated version of what a normal male reproductive organ should look like. It was so massive that Johansen's extremely long fingers could not completely wrap themselves around the circumference of the member.

The penis' significantly elongated shaft displayed a series of pulsating bas-relief like veins and arteries running up and down its entire length. And the bulbous, mushroom-shaped head was already glistening with the weeping secretion of pre-ejaculatory fluid. Lastly, the organ's girth was freakish in proportion, and undoubtedly not designed to bring pleasure to anyone.

As she gawked at the unnaturally engorged member, Marie had quickly and correctly deduced that the throbbing protruding rod of simulated flesh was irrefutably an instrument of pain, nothing more.

Johansen, without another moment's hesitation, swiftly advanced on the vulnerable woman, completely closing the chasm between them. While keeping a firm grip on his grotesquely humongous cock with one hand, the other reached out to grab hold of the metal restraints around Marie's slim body. In one single motion, the inhuman aggressor savagely ripped away at the fetters, while tearing off thin cotton hospital gown she had been given to wear in the process.

Naked, cold and shivering, Marie quickly crossed her arms over the exposed erect nipples gracing the mounds of her breasts out of modesty.

"Stay away from me!" she warned as she tried get off the stainless steel gurney. But it was of no use, Captain Johansen soon climbed on top of Marie, crushing her smaller, slender frame with the mighty size and weight of his own. Marie tried her best to fend off her attacker, by raking her long sharp fingernails into the Nazi's face. In spite of the appearance of four deep lacerations on the skin of his right cheek, Johansen seemed unfazed. His icy blue eyes stared down at his helpless victim, devouring her body with his frigid gaze. Marie, however did not remain unpunished for her offense and soon found herself on the receiving end of vicious backhanded slap.

Marcel looked on at the nauseating spectacle with horrified eyes, but he forced them shut the moment that he saw Johansen pry his wife's long legs apart then savagely shove himself inside her vagina, with one powerful thrust. Marie had immediately cried out in agony as she involuntarily arched her back off the surface of the gurney. She could feel the tight sheath of her birth canal being stretched to its limits of elasticity.

During normal sexual congress, a woman's vagina could accommodate a man of nearly any size. But Marie now knew without question, that this was no mere man brutalizing the core of her sex. The expressionless monster that now held dominion over her digitized body was a heartless, relentless machine, incapable of feeling any pity, or remorse. It's only purpose, for the moment was to continue to drive itself into Marie with the force of a battering ram in order to inflict the maximum amount of pain.

"Marcel, please stop him! For the love of God, stop this, pleeeeeaaase!" Marie's cries for clemency tore away at her husband's soul, but despite this, he kept true to his word by remaining silent about the codes to Zion's mainframe.

And as the Nazi officer began to rock his hips back and forth with vigorous, rhythmic precision, he managed to tear the thin membrane of skin that lay between the vaginal and anal openings. As Marie felt her tender flesh being slit apart, her blood-curdling screams filled the chamber.

"Marcel," she wailed. "It's ripping! Oh dear God, it burns!"

Noticing that his male prisoner had closed his eyes in an attempt to not witness the violation of his wife, the doctor slithered up next to his captive to whisper softly in his ear. "You can try to ignore this all you want, Herr Dubois. But your ears do not deceive you. Listen to her, captain. She is in agony and it's your fault. But you _do_ have the power to make her pain and humiliation stop. All you have to do is say the word, and your wife will suffer no more."

Upon hearing the false-hearted words of the perfidious program, Marcel slowly opened his dark cold eyes.

"Go to hell, _machine_! I shall tell you nothing!" he stated firmly.

"Who do you love more, Herr Dubois? Your wife or the people of Zion?" Doctor Mengele asked angrily. His vexation at Marcel's refusal to cooperate had almost reached its breaking point. "It seems to me that you don't care what she is going through! You disgust me! Your wife's cries mean nothing since all you can think about is your precious city!"

Marcel's eyes bored into Mengele's beady ones with pure, unadulterated hate, but still he rebuffed the doctor's attempts to extricate the precious information of Zion's most guarded secret from him.

The military physician snorted his disapproval then with the slightest of hand gestures, he commanded his underling to flip Marie onto her stomach. The Nazi captain promptly obeyed by withdrawing from the woman lying beneath him, giving her a momentary reprieve from the excruciating assault.

All too soon however, his large hands roughly turned her over, forcing her to lay face-down onto the cold metallic slab. Shoving his right arm underneath Marie, Johansen took an unyielding hold of her abdomen, and then forcefully wrenched her body up until she was resting on top of the gurney on her hands and knees.

Hot fresh tears of humiliation and anger welled up in Marie's eyes. She knew her rear-end had been propped up and was terribly exposed to the hungry probing eyes of her tormentor. Like a roasted suckling pig being offered up on a banquet table, Marie felt that she was about to be devoured by the insatiably ravenous program.

"Please, no more! Marcel, make them stop!" Marie's pitiful little whimpers cut deeper into Marcel than the piano wire ever could. The internal struggle that continued to rage within him was soon overtaken by inevitable guilt. How could he just sit there and allow his wife to be violated in such a horrendous manner?

Is Zion worth all this, he wondered despondently.

Mengele's mouth was practically watering as his dark beady little eyes washed over Marie's nude quivering form, a fact that was duly noted by her sorrowful husband. "Your wife is quite the beauty, Herr Dubois. If I were only twenty years younger, I would have a go at her myself."

When the doctor's lewd comments failed to get a rise out of his captive, Mengele snarled menacingly. "This is your _last_ chance captain!" Pointing a finger directly at Marie, Dr. Mengele continued with his demands. "Tell me what you know or _she_ will pay the price for your effrontery!"

Again, Marcel chose to remain defiantly silent.

Sighing with mock disappointment, the Nazi physician quickly rescinded his offer when he addressed the still visibly aroused Johansen.

"Herr Dubois has apparently given you his consent to _pleasure_ his wife. As you were, Captain Johansen. Please do continue, don't stop on our account."

Encouraged by his superior's orders, the overzealous officer resumed his "duties" with a great vim and vigor. Roughly, he reintroduced his rigidly erect member, only this time, Johansen managed to drive it deeply inside the tight virgin sheath of her rectum. Once again, the Nazi officer found his momentum and began to swiftly shove his hips forward, plunging deeper and deeper into his victim's body.

The force of his thrusts would have been pushed his screaming victim off the gurney if it weren't for the Johansen's tight hold on her.

Marie continued to shriek in agony, pleading with anyone within earshot to bring her torment to an end. The intense pain of being sodomized proved to be too much. Her eyes closed involuntarily as she prayed for sweet oblivion to overtake her.

As for Johansen, he began to relish in the primal pleasure of taking the human woman by force. Her moans and cries of discomfort while she struggled and writhed underneath him only enhanced his gratification. Being buried deep inside her, the tightness of her flesh contracting and compressing his own, was the most exquisite sensation he had ever experienced.

It felt so good, in fact, that he didn't want it to end. And thanks to the infinite energy of his power source, it wouldn't have to. Johansen's stamina and strength was unmatched, surpassing that of the average human male. He could continue his sexual assault for hours without even breaking a sweat, prolonging his pleasure for as long as he desired. Orgasms were not a problem for A.I. either, since they could delay them for as long as they wanted. The added bonus for postponement was a supremely intense and powerful climax.

"Please, Marcel! Make this stop! Tell them what they want to know. I don't care anymore!" Marie's frantic pleas began to whittle away at her husband's defenses.

Marcel had heard enough. Dismayed, and crestfallen, the once proud captain was now reduced to being an unwilling _voyeur_ to his wife's humiliating treatment. And the more he tried to convince himself that this macabre spectacle was just an illusion, the weaker and more powerless he felt.

The great irony of this situation, like some cruel joke, sickened him all the more. Captain Marcel had literally guided and educated hundreds of other red-pills to ignore what their senses told them, to use the power of their minds to thwart the machines' deceptions, no matter how real they seemed, or how emotionally gut wrenching they could be. Marcel never dreamed that in a million years that _he_ would be the one caught in strangling web of lies that the Matrix weaves.

Ashamed by his own failure to put into practice what he so steadfastly preached to his followers, the need to get out of his restraints was renewed within him once more. Anger and hate towards his adversaries fueled Marcel's desire to be free from his digital prison. Harnessing all of his mental powers, he banished all thought save one: to save Marie.

Even if it was the last thing he would ever do.

lllll

"I can't let you do this, Nova!" The Sandman still had a hold on Teresa's arm, refusing to let her go until she listened to reason.

"You've got two choices, operator: one) you take your hand off me. Or two) I'll hack it off. Which one will it be?"

Knowing full well that Teresa would try to make good on her threat, the Sandman was slightly hesitant on how to proceed. Eventually, he made up his mind to stand his ground, defying the first officer in thought and deed.

"If you want this to get _physical _Nova, bring it on! Remember Dorothy, you're not in Kansas anymore. This here is the _real world._ You can't use your gravity- defying moves on me. And I won't stand by and let you _murder_ your own mother! I don't want do this, but I _will_ stop you, if I have to! "

Teresa's lips curled up into a ferocious grimace. "You're welcome to try. But I promise that once I've wiped the floor with you, I'll be throwing your sorry ass in the brig. And you will rot there until your court martial in front of the Zion Council!"

Discipline and self-control were aggressively supplanted by blinding rage as both The Sandman and Teresa drew back their fists, each ready to throw the first blow.

The unanticipated sound of Thor's angry voice shocked the would-be combatants into perfect stillness. "What in the _hell_ is going on here?"

"Thor this doesn't concern you!" Teresa gruffly addressed her second gunner.

The Sandman echoed the first officer's sentiment. "Back off Thor, this is between me and Nova!"

Thor, not fully understanding what was transpiring between his two shipmates only wanted to end the conflict before things got out of hand. "Nova, Sandman, _both_ of you stand down or _I'll_ put you down!"

"That goes for me too!" Stunned by someone else's presence on bridge, all three crewmembers turned to see who it was.

To everyone's complete surprise, it was none other than Athena, the ship's medical officer. Quiet, little mousy Athena, who had never said two words to anyone, with the exception of her lover Hermes, was now standing just a few feet away aiming an energy-cannon.

With a disgusted sneer on her face, the usually timid medic heatedly spoke to her comrades. "Somebody had better start explaining just what the _fuck _is going on here, or I start shooting!"

Astonishingly, Teresa was the first to back down. The sight of such a peaceful woman like Athena taking up arms against her was like a splash of ice cold water on her face, bringing her back to her senses. She was immediately mortified, realizing that her unchecked temper almost brought mutiny onboard the _Morpheus. _

_If Marcel could only see me now…he would be ashamed of me._

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Teresa finally found her voice. "Athena, please put down your weapon. There's been enough violence today, we don't need anymore."

At first, the medical officer hesitated to lower the cannon, but when she saw the unshed tears in Teresa's eyes, she quickly complied with her request.

"Nova…?" Athena began to inquire, her voice barely above a whisper.

Raising her hand to silence her female compatriot, Teresa offered up a hasty apology. "I'm sorry; I don't know what came over me."

She then turned to her operator to speak to him directly. "Sandman, I don't know what to say…"

With a shadow of a smile on his full lips, the bi-racial young officer interrupted his superior. "…I know. I'm sorry too."

With apologies out of the way, Teresa felt the need to bring the rest of her crew up to speed on the events that were currently unfolding. Hermes had now joined the impromptu assemblage, and was standing behind Athena with his arms wrapped around her trim waist.

Clearing her throat, Teresa threw her shoulders back, once again assuming the pose of a commanding officer. With steely eyes, she looked upon the anxious faces of her crew. "I won't beat around the bush," she began to say, trying to keep the timber of her voice steady as despair ate away at her insides. "Captain Marcel, as you all know is being held prisoner in _Auschwitz_. Presently he is being tortured by Dr. Mengele and his minions. But what you may not know is that my mother at this very moment is being _raped_ by one of _them_, a machine!"

Athena and Hermes both gasped in horror as Thor's jaw dropped in shock and dismay. The Sandman remained gloomily silent.

Stifling a wretched sob, Teresa continued. "I certainly don't need to remind _any_ of you of what this means. The machines must have known about my mother's past, of her former life in the Matrix before she was unplugged, that's why they are doing this to her."

"What do you mean?" Hermes dared to ask.

"Before my mother met the captain, she was married to my father's former business partner, Gaston Dupree. Gaston was a sadistic pig that abused my mother both mentally and _physically_. When my mother finally kicked him out of their marriage bed, he resorted to raping her, taking his marital rights by force. The horror of what she went through, I'm sure, still haunts her to this day."

"Then why? Why do you mistreat your mother knowing what you know? Don't think we haven't notice how you shun her, we're not blind you know!" The Sandman had finally spoken up, for the first time vocalizing what he had held in for so long.

The operator's words were the final catalyst, shattering the emotional barrier that guarded the horrendous secrets of Teresa's past. All of the pain, anguish and bitterness of long-ago spewed forth with a heartbreaking outburst, revealing the vulnerable woman dwelling underneath the surface of the hard-bitten warrior.

"Gaston had raped _me _too, that's why!" Teresa's outcry had rendered her crew silent. Athena began to shed tears of empathy after the first officer's revelation.

Teresa knew now that she had a captive audience, even if she did not mean for it to be so. She fought hard not to retreat behind the walls of self-imposed isolation, where she protected her heart. The crew had to know the truth and why it was so important that they support her actions, now more than ever.

When she felt Athena's soft hand on her shoulder, she looked over at the older woman. In her warm brown eyes, Teresa found the encouragement to tell her story.

Taking in a deep breath she continued her account. "I had just turned 15 when it happened. On the night of my mother's disappearance he came to my room in a drunken rage and forced himself on me. I was a virgin but that didn't matter to him as he took me, savagely. I had begged mercy. But Gaston was blinded by hate and jealously, furious with my mother for running off with another man. When I tried to fight back he beat me until I submitted to his will.

I remember crying out for my mother that night, and the nights that followed, but she never came. I had been left all alone in the world at the mercy of that son-of-a-whore and I hated my mother for it, I really did! I couldn't understand how a mother could leave her child like that!"

Athena's heart went out to Teresa, finally understanding the reason behind her aggression and pent up rage. "Jesus Christ, what a monster! Forgive me for asking, but whatever happened to Gaston?"

Throwing her shoulder's back, Teresa leveled her eyes at Athena. "I killed him."

What followed was Teresa's somber explanation of how she ran away to Paris and out of necessity, turned to a life of prostitution, selling her young body to older lecherous men. Every crewmember listened intently as the young woman before them purged the demons of the past.

Teresa went on to detail the countless nights she spent in the arms of faceless, nameless men she cared nothing about. In her early days as novice in the "oldest profession", she had even fallen prey to a few unscrupulous customers in the dark back alleys of skid row, far away from the bright lights of the affluent French metropolis.

Due to her obvious youth and naiveté, one of her "regulars" had even tried to cheat her of her hard-earned wages. And when she had refused to relinquish the few precious coils, she was mercilessly beaten for her trouble. Afterward, as she lay bleeding on the dirty cobblestone street, Teresa had desperately yearned in vain for someone to save her from that hellish existence, namely her mother.

The harsh lessons she learned from those difficult years were forever seared into her memory. Regardless of the fact that her experiences were just an elaborate illusion, the abandonment she felt as a result of her mother's absence was still very real. Not understanding why Marie had left her to fend for herself, Teresa's heart had hardened against her, blaming her mother for all of her misfortune.

Finally, as Teresa brought the harrowing account of her deplorable life to an end, a reverent hush had fallen upon the entire crew. The words of their first officer lingered in the air for a few moments more.

"So, now you all know truth, but make no mistake, I do not want or need your pity. What I require now is your understanding and support to do what must be done."

"You still mean to pull the plug on your mother, don't you?" The Sandman asked with a tremor in his voice.

Turning her tearful eyes to her operator, she gave him her somber reply. "Yes, I do. I have to, for all our sakes. It will only be a matter of time before the machines breakdown her spirit and force her or the captain to talk. And if that happens, it would be the end of Zion!"

"Nova, there has to be another way to save her. The exiles can…"

Teresa interjected, "…There is no other way! The exiles would not make it in time! It may even be too late already! As long as she remains alive, the captain's resolve will weaken! His love for her could betray us all! I have to do this! I'm the only one that can!"

Trying to fight back his own tears of misery, the Sandman at last understood Teresa's true intentions. She meant to bring about her mother's death not out of spite or resentment, but to protect and preserve the greater good.

Placing his hand on Teresa's shoulder in a conciliatory gesture, the ship's operator allowed his tears to finally flow. "Do what you must, then. I will back you, we all will." His voice had been reduced to the miserable gurgle of a choked sob.

Nodding curtly to her crew, Teresa Picard wiped her face with the back of a tattered sleeve of her well-worn sweater. Solemnly she turned away from them to face the motionless form of her mother, Marie.

As she made her approach, Teresa could see the almost peaceful visage of the woman that had given her life. Marie's fine features were in a state of tranquility, a direct contrast to the battle being waged in her mind. Teresa admired the soft smooth alabaster skin still untouched by the ravages of time. And for the first time in her life, Teresa could now appreciate the strong resemblance she bore to the woman lying prone before her.

Mother, you've never looked more beautiful, Teresa's thoughts rang out as her heart began to shatter into a million pieces. However she knew that could not allow Marie to continue to suffer. By doing this, she would bring her mother the peace she so rightly deserved.

Carefully, she laid her hand on her mother's forehead, while the other reached around to grab a firm hold on the metal spike implanted deeply into Marie's troubled cerebrum.

Next, she planted a feathery little kiss onto a warm silky cheek, and then whispered softly into her mother's ear. "_Adieu Maman, _I love you so very much. Please believe that. I need you to. I'm just so sorry I never got the chance to tell you until now."

There was no saving Marie; her mind was too far gone. By now the machines had burrowed too deep into her psyche, blurring the lines between reality and illusion, Teresa was more than certain of this. Sooner rather than later, the Nazi's would eventually retrieve the precious information that only a few Zionists were entrusted with, and sworn to protect with their very lives if necessary. The mainframe codes to the last human city's defense grid. If the machines gained access, it would mean the end of Zion.

As warm tears trickled down her face, the words of the Seer came back to haunt Teresa with a vengeance, flooding her mind and heart with an inescapable sorrow.

_One of your parents will have to die, which one will up to you._

At long last, she had a moment of clarity, an epiphany. Teresa had come to realize that she had long since made her choice. She knew that now. But it wasn't until this very moment that she had grasped the true meaning of her decision. As much as it broke her heart, she finally understood the reason, the why. Her mother was to be the sacrifice so that Zion could continue to thrive, so that humanity would not be extinguished. Marie would be a sacrifice for the greater good.

Somehow, someway, Teresa found comfort in that thought. The knowledge that her mother's life would not be taken from her in vain, that there was truly a purpose in her demise, made her dire decision a bit more palatable

Taking in a deep, ragged breath, Teresa's slender fingers tightened their grip on the jack as she readied herself to tug it out with all of her might.

Allowing herself to gaze upon her mother one last time, her teary eyes hungrily took in all they saw in an effort to commit Marie's serene features to memory.

Suddenly her peripheral vision picked up something, and soon Teresa became aware that the crew had all turned away from her. Perhaps they refused to bear witness to this act of mercy-killing. Who could blame them? She could hardly stand it herself. But it was even more conceivable that her crew, out of respect and loyalty, had granted her the privacy she needed to do what must be done.

"Forgive me." Her voice was an almost unrecognizable raspy whisper as she begged for absolution from both her mother and her shipmates.

Then before she could lose her nerve, and with eyes tightly shut, Teresa felt her hand deliberately dislodge the jack from her mother's cortex. The moment her lifeline was severed, Marie Dubois' body slightly convulsed in its final death throes, her arms and legs twitched involuntarily as existence left her. After a few moments, Marie ceased her flailing about, lying still in the chair that cradled her as she drew her last breath.

_Oh God, she's gone!_

Overwhelming feelings of grief and loss threatened to decimate what was left of Teresa's resolve. Her mother was gone along with any chance of reconciliation between mother and daughter. Stupid pride and old resentments had robbed them both of the loving relationship they could have shared.

_So many lost years, so many regrets, and now it's too late, for both us!_

Teresa could feel gut wrenching sobs germinated within her, burning the lining of stomach. Wrapping arms around her own belly, Teresa's body hunched over as she tried so hard to contain her bereavement. And yet, she wanted so much to just give in to her anguish, to allow herself a moment to grief for her mother.

But just as she was about to succumb to her devastating sorrow, the abrupt, urgent wailing of the alarm system began to blare out of the loudspeakers. The incessant distress signal reverberated throughout the entire ship, striking fear into the hearts of every member of her crew.

Panic forced Teresa to put off her mourning. Her heartache would have to wait.

Turning away from her mother's corpse, she immediately demanded a status report from her reliable operator. "Sandman, what do we got?"

Peering intently into his multiple monitors, he quickly gave his reply. His analysis of the code confirmed Teresa's worst fears.

"We've got company, Nova! There's a swarm of squids heading this way!"

"_Merde! _Alright, battle stations everyone! If a fight is what the machines want, then we'll give it to them!"

When the Sandman allowed himself to look at his commanding officer, he was completely astonished by her abrupt transformation. Right before his very eyes, she went from a sorrowful girl agonizing over the loss of her mother, to a cold calculating warrior ready to stare unflinchingly into the face of Death itself.

If he didn't know better, he would swear that he was dealing with a machine, her callousness and almost inhuman demeanor was tremendously apparent.

Athena fearfully spoke up, "But, Nova, what about the captain?"

"It's up to the exiles now! Go on get to your post, Athena! I need all hands on deck, including yours!"

Athena acknowledged her orders with a curt, "Yes, ma'am," then hurriedly took her place at Hermes' side in the next available gunner's chair.

Teresa meanwhile made her way to the heart of the bridge. Standing tall, with her shoulders thrown back, the defiant first officer of the _Morpheus_ steeled her tenacity to face her adversaries head-on. The safety of her ship and those onboard has now taken center stage, while all other priorities have taken a backseat.

The crux of Teresa's dilemma was a complicated one, of that she was painfully aware. Would she be able to deflect the sentinel attack and still prevent her captain from surrendering to their enemies?

No doubt that the squids were out for blood and in a worse case scenario, she would order that the EMP be deployed, rendering her enemies _and_ her ship powerless. There would be no way to broadcast a signal into the Matrix. Anyone jacked-in would be trapped within and at the mercy of the system, vulnerable to attack. Would the exiles get to Marcel in time?

Silently she prayed to the God whose existence she forever doubted.

"I've never asked or needed your help. But, if you're really up there listening, help me now!"

End Chapter Twenty-Two


End file.
